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This volume is one of a series that chronicles the histo-
ry and culture of the Native Americans. Other books in
the series include:
THE FIRST AMERICANS THE MIGHTY CHIEFTAINSTHE SPIRIT WORLD KEEPERS OF THE TOTEMTHE EUROPEAN CHALLENGE CYCLES OF LIFE
PEOPLE OF THE DESERT WAR FOR THE PLAINSTHE WAY OF THE WARRIOR TRIBES OF THE SOUTHERN WOODLANDSTHE BUFFALO HUNTERS THE INDIANS OF CALIFORNIAREALM OF THE IROQUOIS PEOPLE OF THE ICE AND SNOW
The Cover' Holding a traditional war club and tobaccopipe, an Ojibwa man proudly sits for a portrait in a
19th-century photographic studio. His fine clothing
displays masterful examples of glass beadwork, em-broidery, and applique, European techniques the GreatLakes Indians learned from Catholic missionaries
THE AMERICAN I N D I A H S
1
88i
PEOPLE Of THE LAKES
by
THE EDITORSof
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Text Editor: Stephen G. Hyslop
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Wooldndge Jr. (principal), Michael E. Howard,
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EditorialAssistant Gemma Villanueva
Special Contributors: Amy Aldrich, Thomas J
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ington, Jennifer Veech (research), Barbara L. Klein
(index).
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(New York), Maria Vincenza Aloisi (Paris), AnnNatanson (Rome) Valuable assistance was also
provided by: Barbara Gevene Hertz (Copenhagen),
Elizabeth Brown. Daniel Donnelly (New York).
General Consultants
Charles E Cleland is Distinguished Professor ofAn-
thropology and Curator ofGreat Lakes Archaeology
and Ethnology at Michigan State University in East
Lansing He is a widely published author on the his-
tory and cultures of the native peoples of the Great
Lakes region whose works include The Rites ofCon-
quest Dr. Cleland has given expert testimony on be-
half ofmany Ojibwa and Ottawa groups pursuing
treaty rights in the federal courts of Michigan, Min-
nesota, and Wisconsin.
Frederick E Hoxie is Academic Vice President for
the Newberry Library in Chicago and former direc-
tor of its D'Arcy McNickle Center for the History of
the American Indian Dr Hoxie is the author ofA Fi-
nal Promise The Campaign to Assimilate the Indians
1880-1920 and other works. He has served as a his-
tory consultant to the Cheyenne River and Stand-
ing Rock Sioux tnbes. Little Big Horn College
archives, and the Senate Select Committee on Indi-
an Affairs. He is a trustee of the National Museum of
the American Indian in Washington, DC
Helen Hombeck Tanner is a consultant historian
with the Newberry Library. Since 1967 she has been
a member of the Michigan Commission on Indian
Affairs. Dr. Tanner has served as an expert witness
in 1 8 legal cases involving Indian treaties with the
federal government. She is author and editor of nu-
merous publications, among them TheAtlasof
Great Lakes Indian History, winner ofthe Erminie
Wheeler-Voegelin Prize from the American Society
for Ethnohistory.
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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
People of the lakes/by the editors ofTime-Life
Books.
p cm -(The American Indians)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-8094-9566-X1 Indians of North America-Great Lakes Re-
gion-History 2. Indians of North America—GreatLakes Region—Social life and customs I Time-Life
Books II Series.
E78.G7P43 1994 94-28494977'00497-dc20 CIP
I1
CONTENTS
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS16
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS76
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE130
ESSAYS
AN ANCIENT OVERLAND ODYSSEY6
GRAIN FROM THE SPIRIT OF THE LAKE52
BUILDING A BARK CANOE64
THE POWER OF THE MIDEWIWIN110
THE ART OF WOMEN'S WORK118
THE MAPLES' ANNUAL GIFT174
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 186
BIBLIOGRAPHY 186
PICTURE CREDITS 187
INDEX 188
i81ii
ANANCIENTOVERLAND
=
ODYSSEYS~
HP
"
SB
Lf^^W TT^ l^jnP "'fy°u do not move, you will
^11 I r I ibe destroyed," proclaimed a
M^^JMrn^M. m. M. prophet to the Anishinabe,
I ¥ 7% l^JT^ or Original People, the forerun-
i IyA"% I ^1 I nersoftheOjibwa and othermi *A 'M>mJ Algonquian-speaking tribes of
£\ ^^\J the Great Lakes region. According to leg-
i^%| 1^ .\ end, the Anishinabe heeded the words of
**J#• * that prophet, who may have been warn-
ing ofthe arrival of the white man. They left their villages
by the great salt sea on the east coast of North America
and embarked on an epic westward journey in search of
a new homeland, "where food grows on the water."
The people of the lakes have long celebrated that
ancestral migration in songs, stories, and pictographs
inscribed on birch-bark scrolls by members ofa sacred
society called the Midewiwin. Some say the Anishinabe
reached the lakes region by venturing up the Saint
Lawrence River past Niagara Falls—the route traced be-
low (airows) and illustrated on the following pages. Oth-
ers maintain that the travelers left the Saint Lawrence at
midcourse and headed up the Ottawa River (dotted line)
before turning westward. But all agree that the Anishi-
nabe were guided by signs from the spirits that led them
to a bountiful country, where sustenance in the form of
wild rice emerged from the water as promised.
GLLFOFSAINT
LAWRENCE
Niagara
LAKE Falls
ERIE
The sun rises over the Atlantic near the
mouth ofthe Saint Lawrence, where the
Anishinabe began theirjourney, recounted
on birch-bark scrolls like the one at right.
Portrayed there are sacred beings, including
the otter and turtle, shown at either end ofa
body ofwater that may be Lake Superior.
In thefirst stage ofa migration that contin-
uedforgenerations, the Anishinabe movedsouthwestward up the Saint Lawrence River
(left) until they reached the Place oftheThunder Water, or Niagara Falls (below).
In time, theAnishi-
nabe reached the
area around LakeHuron and GeorgianBay, dotted by hun-dreds ofrocky is-
lands (below). Theregion aboundedwith stands ofbirch-es (left), whose barkserved manypur-
posesfor the Origi-
nal People,from ca-
noe building to
recordkeeping.
_- -^SSe
mth\<
**%*: ;
; V.
Vi
40
,4/ter crossingfrom island to island andreaching the north end ofLake Huron, the
Anishinabe divided at the rapids they called
Bawating (Sault Sainte Marie) andpro-ceeded around the north and south shores
ofLake Superior, where they came uponplaces ofpower and beauty that remain sa-
cred to their descendants. At left, an ancient
cedar twists skyward on the north shore ofLake Superior. Above, a waterfallplunges
offa rocky cliffon the south shore.
-
*3)
'•
& jm&X
The longjourney ofthe Anishinabe brought
them here to Madeline Island, near the
western end ofLake Superior. Tribal history
attests that the spirits who had guided the
ancestorsfrom the great salt sea sent a sign
in theform ofa sacred shell, which rose
from the water to show the people that this
was their appointed destination.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES17
ON THE MOVEWITH THESEASONSAn Ojibwafamily,equipped with a rifle
and snowshoes,stands outside its
wigwam at a winter
hunting camp. AnIndian invention,
the snowshoe (inset)
typically consisted
ofrawhide netting
stretched on a
rounded ashframe;the Menomineecalled this particu-
lar design a "catfish"
because ofits shape.
Winter came early to the people of
the lakes. By late September—
a
time known to the Ojibwa as the
Shining Leaf Moon—the birches were turning gold-
en, and the sugar maples were touched with crim-
son. By October, or the Falling Leaf Moon, chill winds
were sweeping down from the northwest, combing
the leaves from the branches and raising whitecaps
on the blue water. By November, or the Freezing
Moon, snow blanketed the forest trails, and woodland creatures were
making ready for the long, cold siege that lay ahead. Beavers settled into
their lodges, and black bears repaired to their dens.
In their villages, however, it was time for families to count their bless-
ings and move on. The food they had set by during the short growing sea-
son—corn and squash from their gardens, berries from the meadows, wild
rice from the marshes—would eventually be exhausted in the absence of
fresh provisions. To survive the harsh winter, the villagers would have to
divide into small groups and set out for hunting camps, where the men
would stalk deer and other game and spear or net fish beneath the ice.
The people planned for this move far in advance, marking the time on
calendars of their own devising. "My father kept count of the days on a
stick," recalled an Ojibwa woman named Nodinens, who grew up in the
Mille Lacs region of central Minnesota in the mid- 1800s, when many of
her people were still pursuing the strenuous seasonal round of their an-
cestors. "He had a stick long enough to last a year," she added, "and he al-
ways began a new stick in the fall. He cut a big notch for the first day of a
new moon and a small notch for each of the other days."
With every notch her father made on the stick during the fall, Nodi-
nens and her mother and grandmother stepped up their efforts to prepare
their household for the impending move. Using bone needles and cord
stripped from boiled basswood bark, they wove portable mats of bulrush-
es to cover the pole framework of their winter wigwam. And as the days
grew colder, they stockpiled lightweight bundles of food—wild rice,
berries, and seasonings such as dried pumpkin flowers. By the time ice
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES18
formed on the lakes, they were ready to travel. They rolled the mats up
tightly around their blankets to form handy bundles. When Nodinens's
mother still had an infant to care for, she wedged the baby snugly inside
the bundle, cradleboard and all.
Five other families accompanied Nodinens and her family on their an-
nual trek. "When we found a nice place in the deep woods, we made our
winter camp," she related. "The men shoveled away the snow in a big
space, and the six wigwams were put in a circle and banked with ever-
green boughs and snow. Of course, the snow was all shoveled away inside
of the wigwam, and plenty of cedar boughs were spread on the ground
and covered with blankets for our beds." A fire burned at the center of the
camp as well as at the center of each wigwam: "We always slept barefoot,
with our feet toward the fire," remembered Nodinens.
By limiting their winter camp to several families, the Ojibwa guarded
against the possibility of depleting the limited game in any one area-a
danger that was all the greater after Ojibwa hunters carried guns in place
of their traditional bows and arrows. Each day, the men ventured out,
wearing snowshoes when the drifts were deep, and more often than not,
they returned with their hands full. "My father was a good hunter and
sometimes killed two deer in a day," Nodinens recalled. "Some hunters
The cover ofa wood-en box containing
an eagle-feather
headdressfeatures apictographic record
ofa sacred Ojibwasong. Similar sym-bols were drawn onbirch bark to record
the Ojibwa's ancient
Midewiwin texts.
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS19
took a sled to bring back the game, but more frequently they brought back
only part of the animal, and the women went next day and packed the rest
of the meat on their backs. It was the custom for a man to give a feast with
the first deer or other game that he killed. The deer was cut up, boiled, and
seasoned nicely, and all the other families were invited to the feast. Each
family gave such a feast when the man killed his first game."
Most of the time, the skill and generosity of the hunters kept all the
families well provided for. But on one occasion, their good fortune was
dispelled by an evil omen. A hunter was returning to camp one day when
he heard an owl following him. "You must preserve every bit of deer," he
told the women back at the camp. "This is a bad sign, and we will not get
any more game." Sure enough, luck abandoned the hunters, and their ra-
tions ran short. "We were so hungry that we had to dig roots and boil
them," Nodinens recollected
Fortunately her father belonged to the Midewiwin—a medicine soci-
ety whose members knew how to counter evil influences. The young manwho was serving as leader of the camp knew of her father's powers and
approached him with gifts of berries, tobacco, and a kettle of rice. "Our
friend," the young man implored him, "we are in danger of starving; help
us." Eager to oblige, Nodinens's father called together others of his society
in the camp. "The men sang Mide songs and shook their rattles," his
daughter related. "The children were put to bed early and told that they
must not even look up. My mother sat up and kept the fire burning." Later
that evening, Nodinens's father returned to the family wigwam and sang a
sacred song. Just then, a mysterious voice was heard outside the lodge,
joining in the song: "It was a woman's voice, and my mother heard it
plainly. This was considered a good omen."
Filled with hope, Nodinens's father rose the following morning and di-
rected that a fire be kindled some distance from the camp. There he and
his fellow Midewiwin gathered to sing once more: "They put sweet grass
and medicine on the fire and let the smoke cover their bodies, their cloth-
ing, and their guns. When this was finished, my father covered his hand
with red paint and applied it to the shoulders of the men. They took their
guns and started to hunt, feeling sure that they would succeed." Before
long they and their families were feasting gratefully on the flesh ofanimals
that had long eluded them.
"After that," Nodinens remembered with pride, "whenever we were
short of game, they brought a kettle of rice to my father, and he sang, and
the luck would return."
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES20
Through dedication and persistence, the people of the lakes have
long managed to endure in one of North America's more stringent
environments—a rugged land that was sculpted ages ago by
glacial action and that still reverts to a wintry, icy state for nearly six
months out of the year. The Great Lakes, and the thousands of smaller
lakes around them, formed at the end of the last Ice Age as the heavy gla-
ciers melted and receded northward, leaving behind depressions in the
landscape and copious reserves of water to fill them. The emergent lakes
were at first surrounded by marshy tundra, which provided good grazing
for mammoths and mastodons and smaller herbivores such as caribou.
The plentiful game in turn lured the first humans to the region—hunters
whose ancestors had crossed overland from Siberia during the Ice Age.
Gradually, this hunting
ground was transformed.
As the climate warmed,
the tundra gave way to a
forest of cedar and pine
interspersed with birch,
maple, oak, and other de-
ciduous trees. For the
hunting bands that settled
around the lakes, there
was fresh quarry to be tak-
en. The giant herbivores
were extinct and the cari-
bou had retreated north-
ward, but the woodlands
teemed with ample substi-
tutes, including deer, bear,
moose—and in the grassy
clearings at the southern
and western fringes of the
lakes region, bison.
The land offered other
rewards to its early occu-
pants. From the beginning,
fish were a vital resource
for the people of the lakes.
And eventually, the gather-
A Huron couple
from Quebec exhibit
a mixture ofEuro-
pean and traditional
clothing in this
18th-century water-
color by an un-
known artist.
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS21
*£_
CREE
chequamegonha y
OJIBWA
S I P E R j
OJIBWA/? Ottawa
St. Marys LAKEN1PISSING
OJ>»*.—MACKINAC /
w
FOX o^ ****'-
5*'***/
IS. / MANITOULIIN <^* ,s V HURON*
OTTAWAL/1KES1MCOE
u
" <fc-
(J
S\A U KL 1 K E
WINNERAGO
K I C K A P w
MASCOUTEN <
2o
Q- Ji
;m^pA-
V
i>
SaintLawrence
ntaR/o
IROQUO^
A«>1>^
^\ f&\
ILLINOIS -T./-Vr ^ ' >
When Europeans arrived in the Great Lakesregion in the 1600s, theyfound several relat-
ed tribes living there: The Ottawa settled onManitoulin Island and afinger ofland be-
tween Lake Huron and Georgian Bay as well
as on the northern tip ofthe peninsula be-
tween Lakes Michigan and Huron; the
Potawatomi camped near the southeastern
shores ofLake Michigan; and the Ojibwadwelt around Lake Superior. Neighbors, in-
cluding the Sauk, Menominee, and Fox,
shared the region's abundant resources.
ing of wild seeds and grasses was augmented in places by the planting of
beans, squash, and corn, all of which were introduced to the lakes region
before AD 1000. Agriculture had a major impact on tribes living at the low-
er end of the Great Lakes, where the growing season stretched to four
months or more and the harvests were substantial. In the colder central
zone, however, corn and other crops remained mere supplements to the
traditional diet. Farther north, above Lake Superior, the summer was too
brief and the soil too poor for cultivation, and native peoples subsisted as
their ancestors had, by hunting, fishing, and gathering nuts and berries.
Although the precise movements of the region's tribes cannot be re-
constructed with certainty before they came in contact with Europeans in
the early 1600s, there were unsettling developments in the northern
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES22
woodlands prior to that time. Beginning in the 1 500s, encounters between
Europeans and Indians who were living along the Atlantic coast and the
Gulf of Saint Lawrence gradually spread disease and disruption inland.
And well before that, intertribal conflict was evidently on the increase in
the woodlands, perhaps because surpluses of dried corn provided
portable food for warriors on far-ranging expeditions. Bitter feuds broke
out between rival groups in the woodlands long before the Iroquois living
in present-day New York State acquired firearms in trade from the Dutch
and the English and launched long-distance raids that drove tribes tem-
porarily from their homelands around the Great Lakes. Amid such strife
and uncertainty, some of the bands probably were displaced or chose to
abandon their territories for more promising sites.
Several tribes of the lakes region have preserved legends of an an-
cient migration. The Ojibwa—sometimes referred to as the Chippewa—tell
of an epic journey that long ago brought their ancestors to the shores of
Lake Superior from the east. In the beginning, the story goes, their ances-
tors lived in the land of the rising sun, near the great salt sea that whites
would call the Atlantic. For generations, the people had prospered there,
drawing on the bounty of the eastern forests and lakes. They called them-
selves the Anishinabe, or Original People. In those early years, one version
of the legend says, the Original People "were so many and powerful that if
one was to climb the highest mountain and look in all directions, he would
not be able to see the end of the nation." Living in small bands, the Anish-
inabe were scattered across a broad area. But they kept in contact, travel-
ing by canoe and overland trail to exchange goods and hold councils.
Then came a warning from a prophet. "If you do not move," he told
the people, 'you will be destroyed." The prophet urged them to seek out an
island in the shape of a turtle. That would be their first stopping point.
There would be six more, and each one would be revealed through a sa-
cred sign—the Megis—a cowrie shell that first emerged from the great salt
sea. Many among the Anishinabe were skeptical, reluctant to leave a land
of plenty. Then, one night, a pregnant woman had a prophetic dream in
which she saw herself standing on a turtle, with its head pointed toward
the land of the setting sun. The turtle lay in a river that flowed westward.
When the elders learned of this dream, they pressed the Anishinabe to
leave the coast and search for the visionary island in the direction of the
setting sun. Not all the people heeded them, however. One brave band,
known as the Daybreak People, believed that the prophecy would come to
pass but stayed by the salt sea in order to guard the eastern doorway to
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS23
An 18th-century
portrait shows the
upswept hair style
and body painting ofthe Ottawa. Beforethe introduction oftrade cloth, most Ot-
tawa men coveredthemselves with tat-
toos rather thanelaborate clothing.
the continent for the Anishinabe and to tend the eastern fire. According to
legend, they and others who remained near the ocean were eventually de-
stroyed by a light-skinned race.
For many years, the Anishinabe journeyed westward, mostly by ca-
noe. Some say they paddled up the Saint Lawrence River and found the
turtle-shaped mound not far from present-day Montreal, where a small is-
land sits at the mouth of a westward-flowing river called the Saint Fran-
cis. After dwelling there for a while, the Anishinabe heeded the words
of the prophet and continued their migration, seeking the sacred sign
that would assure them they were on the right course. In time, the
Megis appeared to the people at the Place of the Thunder Water, or
Niagara Falls, where they beheld it rising from the foam. There-
after, the Megis appeared to them out of the water, for while the
Anishinabe had left the ocean behind, they remained tied by
destiny to majestic lakes and rushing rivers.
During their great journey, which lasted many generations,
the Anishinabe encountered enemies and subdued them,
profiting by their strength in numbers. At night, it was
said, their campfires flickered "like stars for as far as the
eye could see." All the campfires were kindled from one
sacred fire, which had been carried from the land of
, ;pv the rising sun and was never allowed to die.
^ As the lone trek continued, legend has it, the
w Anishinabe divided into three groups and went their
separate ways, with each group assuming a different
responsibility for sustaining the culture. One
pledged to safeguard the sacred fire. These people
became known as the Potawatomi. Another
group agreed to carry out major trading expe-
ditions. These became the Ottawa. The third
group was to protect the spiritual beliefs of
the Anishinabe and emerged as the Ojibwa. From their
anks would come the Midewiwin, who would preserve the
sacred lore of the people in words, in songs, and in the symbols
they inscribed on their unique birch-bark scrolls.
The trader people, or Ottawa, found homes on Manitoulin Is-
land at the northern end of Lake Huron and on the main-
land nearby. It was there, in what is today the Canadian
province of Ontario, that Europeans first came upon their
Ju£~
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES24
villages. In 1615 the French explorer Samuel de Champlain encountered a
large group of Ottawas near the mouth of the French River, due east of
Manitoulin Island. Struck by the way in which the men coaxed their hair
into a sort of elevated ridge, he dubbed them cheveux releves, or "raised
hairs." Others who dealt with them early on observed that Ottawa men
wore their hair high in front but short in the back, which purportedly gave
pursuing enemies less to take hold of. So energetic were they at trade,
Champlain noted, that some of their parties would journey several hun-
dred miles or more to exchange goods with other tribes.
The Potawatomi, for their part, settled in the southwestern part of
present-day Michigan, where fish and game were abundant and where
the climate and soil were conducive to farming. Agriculture provided them
some security, but they still dispersed to hunting grounds in the late fall to
make it through the winter. In the spring, some parties would venture
south to stalk bison on the patches of prairie that emerged from the wood-
lands below the lakes. Although the Potawatomi were not unique among
tribes of the region for their hospitality and diplomacy, they did justice to
their reputation as keepers of the sacred fire by bringing rival groups to-
gether to arbitrate disputes and by lavishing food and other bounty on
their guests. One French visitor to a Potawatomi village in the 1600s was
entertained royally with a feast that included boiled whitefish, the tongue
and breast of a deer, beaver's tail, bear's feet, a pair ofwood hens, a savory
stew, and a sweet beverage of water mixed with maple syrup.
The Ojibwa, meanwhile, had settled farther to the north, along Lake
Superior. As guardians of the spiritual traditions of the Anishinabe, it was
said, they continued to be guided by the Megis after parting from the oth-
ers. In time, that sacred sign appeared to them at another place of beauty
and bounty—the strait where waters from Lake Superior rushed down to
the lower-lying Lake Huron. There, where whitefish choked the rapids, the
Ojibwa paused and established a village they called Bawating, or Place at
the Falls. Some of the Ojibwas remained in the area, while others eventu-
ally continued on around Lake Superior.
Bawating was not only a splendid fishery but also a hub for water-
borne trade. French explorers and traders who arrived there in the 1 7th
century dubbed the local Indians Saulteurs, an adaptation of the French
word saut, or "falls." The place became known to the French as Sault
Sainte Marie. Frenchman Claude de La Potherie, writing about 1700, mar-
veled at the skill with which Saulteurs negotiated the rapids in their ca-
noes to snare the swarming whitefish: "They cast their nets headlong into
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS25
Ojibwa men use long-handled nets to snare
whitefish in the rapids at Sault Sainte
Marie, Ontario, abovt 1900. Theirfishingtechniques are simitar to those recordedmore than 200years earlier in a drawing(inset) by French artist Louis Nicolas.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES
the boiling waters," he wrote.
"The tumult of the waters in which they are floating seems to them only a
diversion; they see in it the fish, heaped up on one another, that are en-
deavoring to force their way through the rapids; and when they feel their
nets heavy, they draw them in." The village had a permanent population of
several hundred people, a number that swelled to two or three thousand
each summer as Ojibwas and others from the surrounding area congre-
gated there to fish, trade, hold diplomatic councils, and join in ceremonies.
By the time Frenchmen reached Bawating, many Ojibwas were fan-
ning out around Lake Superior. According to legend, those who ventured
to the western end of that lake were again blessed with a vision of the
Megis. That sign appeared to the people for the last time at La Pointe Is-
land—or Madeline Island, as it is known today—where Ojibwas founded a
bustling village that emerged as the spiritual center of their culture. There
at La Pointe, one Ojibwa later remarked, the Mide rites were practiced in
Hail Storm, anOntario Ojibwa,
donned native dress
for an 1843 tour ofEngland. British au-
diences, including
novelist Charles
Dickens,flocked to
see the Ojibwas in
traditional cos-
tumes and jewelry,
including pieces like
this incised silver
bracelet (inset).
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS
Tiered earrings andexpensive clothing
indicate the high
status ofMas-saw, a
prominent Potawa-
tomi. Her blouse re-
sembles one with
brooches ofGermansilver (inset), an al-
loy made ofnickel,
zinc, and copper.
their "purest and
most original form."
Even though the Ojibwa, Ot-
tawa, and Potawatomi occu-
pied distinct territories, they
spoke related Algonquian languages and acknowledged
their common traditions by referring to themselves as the
Three Fires. They were linked by language and custom to
several other tribes living around Lakes Superior, Michi-
gan, and Huron when Europeans arrived. Among the oth-
er Algonquian speakers of the western Great Lakes were the Menominee,
Kickapoo, Sauk, and Fox, also known as the Mesquakie, all ofwhom were
first encountered by whites in the vicinity of present-day Wisconsin; and
the Miami and Illinois, whose ancestral territory lay below Lake Michigan.
With the Three Fires, these tribes have been labeled the central Algon-
quians, to distinguish them from the eastern Algonquians along the At-
lantic coast. The peripheries of the lakes were home to tribes belonging to
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES
two other language groups— to
the west, the Siouan-speaking Winnebago of lower Wisconsin and, to the
east, the Iroquoian-speaking Huron at the southern end of Georgian Bay.
When Champlain initially came upon the Huron in the early 1600s,
they were trading amicably with various Algonquian tribes, while at the
same time feuding bitterly with the Five Nations of the Iroquois confeder-
acy to their south. In the mid- 1600s, the Huron homeland was overrun by
the Iroquois. Some surviving Hurons fled westward and sought refuge
among central Algonquian peoples, who would soon face sharp chal-
lenges of their own from Iroquois war parties.
The escalating conflict between the Iroquois and the people of the
lakes was the result of longstanding animosities, aggravated by competi-
tion for the furs that European traders prized. But in many respects, the
customs and traditions of the rival groups were quite similar. Both divided
their communities into clans that claimed descent primarily from animal
Big Sail, an Ottawachief, wears aroundhis neck what is
probably a British
peace medal. A simi-
lar medallion (in-
set), inscribed with
the name ofOttawaleader Matchiwita,
was likely presented
by Englishmen ea-
ger to control the
Great Lakesfurtrade in the 1800s.
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS
Grizzly Bear, a
Menominee chief-
tain, carries a sa-
cred calumet. TheMenominee believed
tobacco had mysti-
cal properties, andso they took great
care in crafting their
pipestems, such as
this wooden modelcarved with afloral
design and inlaid
with silver (inset).
spirits. And when it came to
warfare, both the Iroquois and their opponents around the western Great
Lakes practiced similar rituals of retribution. War parties atoned for the
loss of loved ones by capturing enemies, who were either adopted by the
grieving families or put to death. Captors sometimes ate some of the flesh
of the condemned men as a way of claiming their bravery and strength.
Assaults by the Iroquois were not the only shocks sustained by the In-
dians of the western Great Lakes. By the time the raids reached their peak
in the 1650s, many of the region's indigenous peoples had already been
depleted by diseases communicated by European intruders. And once the
Iroquois threat subsided, further trials lay ahead—wars between rival Eu-
ropean powers that proved ruinous for many of the native peoples caught
up in them and a rising tide of white settlement. By the mid- 19th century,
many Indians from the southern part of the region had been forced from
their homelands. Some displaced groups ended up in strange and distant
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES
settings. The Sauk and the Fox—
who were so closely allied for a time that they were spoken of as one
tribe—were driven westward, ending up on reservations in Iowa and
Kansas. A small number of Winnebagos managed to hold out in the
woods of Wisconsin, but the rest were relocated repeatedly by federal offi-
cials, with the majority ending up in Nebraska. The Kickapoo, for their
part, underwent an epic series of displacements that saw part of the tribe
driven all the way to Mexico—an odyssey that spanned centuries and ri-
valed the fabled journey of the Anishinabe.
As for those calling themselves the Three Fires, many Ottawas and
some Potawatomis managed to retain footholds in their ancestral do-
main. But it was the Ojibwa of the northern lake country who persisted in
their homeland in the greatest numbers. They were fortunate in that their
ancestors had occupied a densely forested country that was not easily
penetrated by hostile warriors and offered little to attract white farmers.
Black Hawk, the
Sauk leader whomade a last effort at
repelling the whites
during the 1832Black Hawk War,
holds afan madefrom thefeathers ofhis namesake bird.
ContemporarySauks continue to
usefeatherfans (in-
set) as part of theirceremonial regalia.
O M THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS
Wakusasse, a Foxwarrior, wears aroach made ofdeerand porcupine hair.
The traditional
roach headdress (in-
set) is attached to a
scalp lock to create
a crest recalling that
ofthe woodpecker, a
bird long associated
with war by the Fox.
The Ojibwa had even managed
o expand their territory in the 1 700s by driving rival Dakota Sioux from
the Mille Lacs area and other parts of Minnesota. To be sure, they subse-
quently faced serious challenges to their independent way of life. The fur
trade they had come to rely on dwindled; mining and lumber companies
made inroads on their territory; and American and Canadian authorities
imposed treaties that reduced the tribe's once-vast domain to several
scattered reservations. Nevertheless, the Ojibwa adapted and endured.
Many found employment with the timber industry. And when business
was slow and work scarce, Ojibwas in both Canada and the United
States—like other native peoples who remained in the region—supported
themselves as they had in earlier days, by hunting, fishing, and harvesting
food from gardens, meadows, and marshes.
Today there are nearly 200,000 people of Ojibwa descent living in the
northern lakes country, many of them in urban areas but others in small
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES
communities where some of the
old ways persist. As one of the largest Native American groups north of
Mexico, they have kept alive their own heritage as well as that of related
groups who once prospered in the area but have since been scattered
across the continent. A great deal of what we know today about the age-
old traditions of the people of the Great Lakes region has come to us from
the Ojibwa. Yet they are not alone in honoring the memory of the ances-
tral Anishinabe. All native groups who trace their descent to the region
and reflect that treasured legacy in their customs and lore are helping to
perpetuate the beliefs and practices of the Original People.
Hoowaunneka, or
Little Elk, a Win-nebago chiefwhoseportrait was painted
during an 1828 trip
to Washington, D.C.,
wears several shell
necklaces. The Win-
nebago liked to
make such chokers
from shells obtained
in trade (inset).
In a sense, the journey of the Anishinabe never ceased. For the people of
the lakes, movement from place to place in search of sustenance became
part of the annual round, although villagers generally confined their sea-
sonal forays to familiar territory and returned to the same site each sum-
mer. In the warmer months, they usually traveled by water, taking advan-
O ri THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS
The KickapooAhtonwetuk, or the
Cock Turkey, prays
with a prayer stick
carved with symbolsto aid his memory.He was a disciple ofthe Kickapooprophet Kennekuk,who crafted the
maple-wood prayer
stick shown above.
tage of the innumerable lakes,
rivers, and streams that laced their homeland. Many journeys required
portages, or overland treks between navigable waterways, passages that
would have been very difficult if the people had relied solely on heavy
dugout canoes of the sort made by tribes to the south. In addition to fash-
ioning dugouts, most Indians of the region built lightweight canoes, using
the bark of a tree that was among their greatest natural assets—the birch.
Despite its fragile appearance, the pale, papery bark of the birch was
tough, flexible, and resistant to damage from water or insects. It served
many purposes besides that of canoe building. Birch-bark containers
called makuks were used for gathering wild fruits and storing food. The
bark was also made into mats and panels used for the exterior of homes.
So durable were the objects made from birch bark that some fragments
have been uncovered more than four centuries after they were made, still
showing clearly the awl marks where the panels were sewn together.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES34
Among the Ojibwa, the building of a birch-bark canoe was a consum-
mate talent, one thought to be a gift from the spirits. Only a few men in
each community were skilled in the manufacture of such a craft. Although
one man was in charge of building a canoe, others participated. Birch bark
for the canoes was harvested in the spring, when it had the proper re-
siliency; bark gathered in the summer had a tendency to bubble and split
into thin sheets. Early in the season, men would locate good trees—those
used for the skin of a canoe had to have a broad trunk that rose to a con-
siderable height before branching. Once an appropriate tree had been
found, a blessing was offered to its spirit. The bark was then removed in
one piece, carefully rolled and tied with spruce root, and carried back to
camp, where it was submerged in water to keep it soft.
While some men were busy collecting birch bark, others combed the
forest for cedar timbers for the canoe's skeleton. Often the men returned
to trees they had girdled the year before and felled the dead timber, split-
ting the trunks with wedges made from bone and stone. The logs were
then bundled together and carried back to camp. Meanwhile, the womensearched for the long, slender spruce roots that would be used to sew and
lash the skin to the frame. From experience, Ojibwa women knew to seek
In 1913 an Ojibwafamily makes a voy-
age in its birch-bark
canoe in Ontario.
Artist George Catlin,
who visited the re-
gion in the 1800s,
was impressed with
the vessels: "Theyare so ingeniously
sewed and shapedtogether that they
ride upon the wateras light as a cork."
On THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS35
solitary trees, whose roots would not be entangled with those of others.
After grubbing up the roots, the women tapped pine or spruce trees for
pitch to seal the seams of the canoe. Collecting enough pitch to seal one
canoe might require tapping as many as six trees for several days.
Once all the materials had been assembled, the canoe maker super-
vised the painstaking process of construction. The result was a watertight
vessel capable of safely transporting a family and all its possessions from
camp to camp. Most birch-bark canoes built by the people of the lakes
weighed less than 60 pounds and drew just a few inches of water. Families
guarded their canoes carefully. To protect the vessels—and themselves—
they generally kept close to shore, where the waters were calmer, and
avoided venturing out in stormy weather. They also took care to propitiate
the spirits believed to lurk in the depths. Before crossing a bay the pad-
dlers might scatter tobacco on the water's surface to appease the water
monster thought to lie in wait to trap and drown unwary paddlers.
Q athering materials for canoe building was just one of many vital
activities that absorbed the people of the lakes in springtime. In
late March or early April, when the sap began to swell in the
trees, they packed their belongings and moved from their winter hunting
camps to maple-sugaring grounds. Maple sugar was their principal sea-
soning. It was also eaten plain or mixed with water to drink. Each small
group of families had its own stand of maple trees—or sugarbush, as it was
known. There, cedar spikes, birch-bark buckets, and other equipment
used to tap the trees were stored year round in lodges, where the sap
drawn each spring was then boiled down.
Like native peoples elsewhere, the tribes of the region gave thanks to
the spirits for the earth's gifts. Thus, the first sugar that crystallized from
the boiled syrup each season was honored with ceremony and prayer.
This ceremonial sugar was traditionally prepared in separate containers.
When it was ready, the cluster of families held a feast in its honor. The host
spoke quietly to the spirits, asking for good health, safety, and long life for
all present. Then each person tasted a small amount of the sugar; an offer-
ing of maple sugar might be carried to nearby graves as well. Afterward
the guests dined heartily. Later there were dances and games such as dice.
Families remained in their maple sugar camps for several weeks, until
the sap stopped flowing. While the women were busy with the trees and
boiling troughs, the men ventured from camp to fish in nearby lakes and
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES36
streams. Frequently, a thick layer of ice still remained on the water, and the
men had to cut through it to reach the fish. After piercing the ice, the fish-
erman would lie flat over the hole with his head and shoulders covered
with a blanket or robe. This veil blocked the sunlight and made it easier for
him to spot his prey. Often he dangled a wooden lure into the water, hold-
ing his spear poised to thrust. When a fish came into view, he swiftly
plunged his weapon home.
Fishing was a year-round activity for the people of the lakes, but the
spring fishing run, which followed sugaring season, was urgent because it
came at a time of general scarcity. When the ice cleared, the sturgeon left
the Great Lakes and surged up the rivers to spawn. Unlike salmon, most
sturgeon lived on after spawning, and it was the native custom to snare
them on their return journey to the lake. "In order to catch them, the Indi-
ans constructed a framework across the river," a 19th-century observer
In camp during the early spring at Mille
Lacs, Minnesota, an Ojibwafamily boils
down sap to make maple sugar. A prosper-
ous woman might own more than 1,000
birch-bark vessels (right)for gathering sap,
all ofwhich would be used continuously
during maple-sugaring season.
OM THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS37
recalled. "This was made by sinking heavy poles like piling not far apart.
On top of these they placed timbers strong enough for persons to sit upon,
and between the poles they strung basswood cord back and forth until it
formed a stout netting through which the fish could not pass. When the
fish came down the river, the Indians, seated on the framework, caught
them with hooks and killed them with clubs."
The rest of the year, the people went after whitefish, pickerel, and a
host of other species. The French officer Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac,
who spent considerable time among the Ottawa and other tribes of the re-
gion in the late 1 7th century, referred to fish as a "daily manna, which nev-
er fails." Better fish could not be found, he added, for "they are bathed and
nourished in the purest water, the clearest and most pellucid you could
see anywhere." Netting was the most common and effective fishing tech-
nique, and was used both by men and by women, who wove the nets from
various fibers. In shallow waters, they laid their seines in the water each
night, attached to stakes, and pulled in a healthy catch the next morning.
To attract fish, the net might be sprinkled with the powdered roots of cer-
tain plants believed to appeal to the creatures. Before being used again,
nets were washed thoroughly and rinsed with a preparation of sumac
leaves to kill any lingering fish odor that might frighten away future quar-
ry. Indians sometimes lured fish at night with the light of torches made of
twisted birch bark or some other material, steeped in pitch. The technique
so impressed early French visitors to northern Wisconsin that they
dubbed several places there Lac du Flambeau, or Torch Lake.
There were various ways of preparing fish. Part of the catch might be
roasted or boiled for immediate consumption. Cadillac retained a power-
ful impression of a stew the Indians of the region called sagamity, which
consisted of whitefish boiled in a mixture of water and cornmeal. "This is
not dainty food," he remarked, "but it is certainly very wholesome, for it al-
ways keeps the bowels open." Much of the catch was preserved for future
consumption, however. In colder weather, fish were frozen whole—they
were thought to keep longer if they had not been cleaned. During the
warmer months, the catch was dried, either in the sun or over a fire. One
technique was to dry it completely and pack the fish away. Another was to
dry the catch partially, then remove the skin and bones and lay the flesh
on a sheet of birch bark, where it completed the drying process. The desic-
cated fillets were then rubbed between the hands until soft and fine, mixed
with maple sugar, and packed in birch-bark containers for storage. The
mixture was considered a special delicacy.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES38
With the end of the spring fishing run came yet another move. In the
last days of May, those groups who planted crops moved to their summer
villages. There they tended their gardens, gathered wild fruits and herbs as
they came into season, and engaged in various warm-weather crafts.
Nodinens of the Mille Lacs Ojibwa recalled how the six families of her win-
ter camp moved together to the maple-sugaring ground and then returned
to their home village in late spring. Each family there "had a large bark
house, with a platform along each side," she noted. Some bark-covered
houses had peaked roofs and were preferred over wigwams as summer
dwellings because the heat rose up into the roof. In addition to such
peaked lodges and the dome-shaped wigwams, tipis, covered with the
same materials as their other dwellings, were sometimes erected at
camps. The Mille Lacs villagers left their bark houses standing through the
year. "We renewed the bark if necessary," Nodinens recollected, "and this
was our summer home." Every family also had its own garden nearby, she
added, and the men would till the soil "with old axes, bones, or anything
that would cut and break up the ground. My father had wooden hoes that
he made, and sometimes we used the shoulder blade of a large deer or a
moose, holding it in the hand."
Once the soil was tilled, the women planted seeds—traditionally, corn,
beans, and squash—in rows of hillocks. After the sowing was done, a
shaman, or spiritual leader, prepared a feast at which people appealed to
the spirits for a bountiful harvest. While they waited for their crops to
ripen, villagers fished, hunted, and gathered. Berry picking was largely
done by women and children—although, among the Winnebago, men par-
ticipated as well. After strapping their makuks to their waists, the har-
vesters set to the task, plucking blueberries, gooseberries, raspberries, or
other delicacies. At first, the hungry villagers gorged on the sweet harvest.
Later, large amounts were preserved. Blueberries and other types of fruit
were dried whole on reed frames—with four makuks of fresh berries pro-
viding about one makuk of dried fruit. Raspberries were often cooked to a
paste, then spread over sheets of birch bark in small, thin cakes, which
were laid out in the sun until the moisture evaporated. The dried cakes
were then stacked and tied in bundles for storage.
Much of what the women harvested from their gardens was also pre-
served. They dried the corn and either stored it whole or knocked free the
kernels and ground them into meal. Squash was sliced into round pieces
and smoked or dried in the sun. Traditionally, the tribes of the region
stored surplus crops in underground caches lined with birch bark. Wood-
Menomineesfishing at night use ironfire
baskets to attractfish to the surface in this
1845 painting by Paul Kane. Today's Ojib-
was continue this ancient practice, wearing
miner's hard hats with halogen lamps to
lure thefish within range oftheir spears.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES40
en beams were laid over the cache, and it was covered with a mound of
earth. Part of the harvest, of course, was steamed, roasted, or boiled and
eaten fresh. The Winnebago followed an elaborate steaming process to
cook large quantities of dried corn. First they pounded the ears on a rack
to separate the kernels from the cob. Then they placed the grain in a pit,
atop red-hot stones lined with husks. Finally, they laid another layer of
husks on top of the kernels, poured water in, sealed the pit with earth, and
left the corn to cook overnight.
During the summer months, the women were also busy gathering and
processing wild plants from the woods and meadows. One of the most
important items they culled was the inner bark of the basswood tree, a
soft yellow fiber that was cut into strips and used for a variety of purposes.
The thickest bands ofbasswood bark were interwoven to form baskets or
containers for boiling resin from trees. The finest strands were fashioned
into twine for sewing together mats, among other purposes. Another use-
ful fiber was derived from the wood nettle. The stalks were allowed to dry
in the field before being harvested; then they were soaked for about 10
days so that the fibers could be easily removed and twined together by
hand to form a strong cord. Cloth was sometimes woven from fine nettle-
fiber cord, while a coarser twine was used to make animal traps and fish-
nets. Knotting the twine into mesh was a painstaking job: Nevertheless,
some Ojibwa fishnets measured more than 200 feet in length.
The summer months were also the time for collecting bulrushes and
cattails, which were stitched together with sturdy twine to form floor mats
or wall coverings. Large quantities of stalks were collected, dried, and
boiled. Some of them were tinted using vegetable dyes. In the weaving
process, performed on a wooden frame or loom, these colored stalks were
used to create patterns—stripes, lattices, and diamonds. While weaving
rush mats, women were careful to keep the stalks moist; otherwise they
might break in the middle of a row, ruining the mat. Women wove rushes
only in the morning or evening, when the sun was not too hot. Whenever
possible, they worked inside in a special shelter designed for the task.
Yet another summertime chore that fell to women was the tanning of
deerskins. The tanning process took at least a day. After the hide had been
removed from the animal, it was soaked for some time to soften it, and
then it was wrung out. The damp skin was thrown over a post set in the
ground at an angle. Using a tool fashioned from bone or stone, the womanthen scraped the hide clean of hair and flesh. After cleansing the skin thor-
oughly once more, she immersed it briefly in a solution made from dried
Ojibwa women and children prepare to har-
vest berries near their summer camp. Manyvarieties ofwild berries (background) growin abundance in the Great Lakes region.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES42
deer brain for further softening. In this pliable state, the
hide was rinsed and laced to a frame, where it was
slowly stretched to its maximum size, then left to dry
completely. At this point the deerskin was nearly white.
The final step in tanning was smoking the hide to a but-
tery brown hue, using rotten wood as fuel.
Once tanned, deer hides were fashioned into an
assortment of items, including articles of ceremonial
value such as tobacco storage bags and drums. Most
tanned deerskins were used to make clothing—breech-
cloths, leggings, skirts, dresses, and moccasins. To sew
such garments, most women used a tough thread of
animal sinew. There were special uses for the hides of
smaller animals, which were processed with the fur left
on. The furry hide of a muskrat was often used to line
moccasins, lending warmth and cushioning. Similarly,
a rabbit pelt might be placed inside a cradleboard as a
soft nestling pad for an infant. Women also wove a kind
of blanket from rabbit skin with the fur attached. For
this purpose, each skin was cut in a long, continuous
strip. Strips cut from many rabbits were then woven to-
gether to make a thick, warm covering.
For ceremonial occasions, men might don a tur-
banlike headdress made from the pelt of an otter and embellished with ea-
gle feathers. Another form of ceremonial headdress was the roach: a crest
of animal hair, firmly fastened to an ornately carved bone and adorned
with a single feather. Sometimes, men left a lock of their hair long and
pulled it through an opening in the bone. Women, for the most part, wore
their hair in a simple braid. For ceremonies, they sometimes drew the
braid up with a buckskin strip decorated with porcupine quills or beads.
The most basic forms of adornment, however, were tattooing and
body painting. Tattooing was performed with sharpened fish or animal
bones, dipped in a pigment made from charcoal or clay and inserted under
the skin. "This pricking is not done without much pain," one French ob-
server noted. "The spot becomes swollen and sore and even forms a small
lump before it heals." Such was the allure of tattooing, however, that some
Indians underwent the operation over much of their bodies. Body painting
among the tribes of the region was equally elaborate. Men painted them-
selves for war and for public assemblies, among other solemn occasions.
Standing in aforestclearing, an Ojibwawoman weaves adiamond design
into a cedar-bark
mat on a simple
postframe. Ragrugs were woven us-
ing carved woodenheddles, such as
this Potawatomi ex-
ample (right).
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS43
"They also paint the prisoners destined to the flames," one early mission-
ary observed. "They do the same also to their dead." So bold was the body
painting among the Huron that some whites who beheld them from a dis-
tance mistook the paint coating their bare skin for clothing.
For the Ojibwa and Menominee, in particular, a highlight of the seasonal
round was the late-summer harvest of wild rice, which flourished in
marshlands from central Wisconsin and Minnesota up into southern
Canada and is still gathered by many residents of the region today. Every
August, people ventured from their summer camps to the rice fields. By
that time, the stalks of the plant were thick and tall, rising up to eight feet
out of the water and topped with heavy, barbed spikes. The spikes con-
cealed the kernels of grain. Travelers to the region never failed to be im-
pressed by the sight of the rice, which grew "so thick and luxuriant," in the
words of one 19th-century observer, "that the Indians are often obliged to
cut passage ways through it for their bark canoes."
Such was the importance of wild rice to the livelihood of the Ojibwa
and Menominee that both groups held it sacred and surrounded
it with legends and taboos. On winter evenings, elders
would relate to the children how the cherished grain
had been bequeathed to the
tribe. The Ojibwa believed that
wild rice had been discovered
for them by the fabled trickster
Wenebojo, who was known to
other tribes of the region by oth-
er names. (The Menominee, for
example, called him Manabus
and said that he had entrusted
the plant for safekeeping to
members of their Bear Clan.)
According to Ojibwa legend,
Wenebojo first came upon the
grain while on an epic journey
to establish his manhood. Al-
though he had been warned
against eating anything during
his travels, he was tempted by
some stalks he saw growing in
45
itrp l-|/"\]VIF, "We can always say, more truly than
i\l llv/llL/ thou, that we are at home everywhere
ATWIflfl IT?PT^ because we set up our wigwamsill 1 1 VV 1 1 L/ lYL/ with ease wherever we go," ex-
plained a 17th-century Algonquian to a
Frenchman who suggested that he ex-
change his bark lodge for a European-
style dwelling. Easy to move and ex-
tremely durable, the wigwam continued
to be the dwelling of choice for migra-
tory groups ofGreat Lakes Indians for
centuries to come.
The basic wigwam, whose namecomes from the Algonquian word wig-
Sauks congregate
outside a multifami-
ly summer lodge.
The lodge doorfaceseast, which the Saukcall "where daylight
appears"; the west is
"where the sun goes
down," and the wall
post to the north is
known as "noon."
wass, for the birch tree or its bark, con-
sists of a frame ofbent saplings covered
with sheets ofbark and reed matting.
But communities created variations onthis theme in response to seasonal
changes and tribal needs. Most com-mon were the domed winter wigwams(left), whose rounded sides resisted
snows and storms. The Ojibwa and oth-
ers also constructed smaller conical
wigwams that were easily transported
to temporary camps. In the summer,several tribes moved into airy, gabled
houses sided with elm bark (above).
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES46
the middle of a lake, which
spoke to him and invited him
to satisfy his keen hunger.
Unable to resist, Wenebojo
picked some of the grains and
ate them. Miraculously, he did
not fall ill. Finally, the stalks
spoke to him once more and
told Wenebojo their name:
manomin, or "spirit seed."
The Menominee believed
that manomin followed them
spontaneously wherever they
went. As evidence, they point-
ed to a lake where wild rice
had not grown until the tribe
moved to its shores. The Ojib-
wa said that only the spirits
could sow the seed. To assist
in that sacred process, they
always left some of the rice
unharvested, but they long
believed that any attempt on
the part of humans to culti-
vate the grain would destroy
it. Today some Indians do in
fact plant the grains, but they
can remember a time when
that would have been consid-
ered folly. A modern-day Ojib-
wa explained what his ancestors had taught him: "Man has never planted
the rice; it has been put in lakes and rivers, when the land was formed for
the Indians. One cannot sow the rice."
Strict taboos governed the wild rice harvest. Women could not partic-
ipate while menstruating. People who had recently lost a family member
were prohibited both from gathering the grain and from eating it. Only if
they underwent a restorative ceremony might mourners be released from
this constraint. To violate these rules would be to alienate the nurturing
spirits that made possible the harvest. Moreover, both the Ojibwa and
A 19th-century Winnebago woman uses asharp iron tool to soften a deer hide that hasbeen stretched across a woodenframe. After
working the white skin, she will sew it into a
bag and invert the pouch on a tripod over a
smolderingfire ofpine, cedar, or corncobs
until it is smoked to the desired color.
ON THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS47
Menominee believed that underwater monsters lurked in the lakes. If not
properly treated, these evil spirits might cause the season's crop to fail. To
avoid such a calamity, the Ojibwa staged a ceremony on the evening of
the first day's harvest and implored the water spirits not to interfere.
Harvesting the grain became a festive occasion, much like the maple-
sugaring season in the spring. Families camped together in small groups
along the shores of the rivers and lakes where the rice grew. Each group
laid claim to its own spot on the shore and its own stand of rice, to which
it returned year after year. People brought little in the way of food with
them to the wild rice fields, relying instead on freshly caught fish and wa-
terfowl and the promise of a good harvest.
During the day, the entire family engaged in the hard work of gather-
ing and preparing the rice. But even at the busiest times, there were inter-
vals for relaxation and play, including lacrosse-a pastime the tribes of the
western lakes shared with the Iroquois and other woodlands peoples—as
well as canoe races, tests of strength, and other diversions. Ojibwa chil-
dren were especially fond of a spirited contest called the cannibal game, in
which a boy was chosen by lot to play the part of the windigo—a dreaded
being who lay in wait for his victims like a cunning predator and proceed-
ed to devour them. The boy playing the windigo would cover his head with
leaves and hide in the bushes. The other children would then venture for-
ward in a line, guided by their chosen leader, a large boy wielding a club.
"When they came near the windigo's hiding place, he rushed out with
fearful yells," observed Frances Densmore, an ethnographer who spent
many years among the Ojibwas in Minnesota. "The leader fought with
him, and the younger children clung screaming to each other. Sometimes
the windigo seized a child and pretended to eat it." Such boisterous games
relieved the long days of toil at the rice camps. And at night, people young
and old indulged in lighthearted storytelling, dancing, and gambling.
The task of bringing in the rice involved several steps, including beat-
ing the ripe grains from the stalks with sticks and parching the loosened
grains so that the inedible hulls could then be cracked free and winnowed
out. Women generally performed most of these chores, while the men
ventured out to hunt waterfowl. On occasion, however, men combined
the two duties, gliding out in canoes to help gather rice, with their
weapons at the ready. Recalled one 20th-century Ojibwa, "My dad, you
know, he'd take a gun along and he would go pulling rice and shoot the
ducks that'd get up in front of him
Once the rice harvest was in, the people thanked the spirits for their
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES48
gift before eating it. Such first-fruit ceremonies are still held to honor the
new crop. One Ojibwa recently described the ceremony performed at his
community along Minnesota's Nett Lake. Each family head would carry to
the house a small container of cooked rice. The containers were tightly
covered, since the rice was considered vulnerable to harm from evil spirits
until it was blessed. After the pots had been placed on a low table and un-
covered, a medicine man lighted a ceremonial pipe and blew tobacco
smoke to the four winds as an offering to the spirits (in other versions of
this ceremony, grains office were blown in the four cardinal directions).
Next, an elder offered a prayer, giving thanks that people had been allowed
to live another year to enjoy the rice harvest. The medicine man then par-
took of a small amount of manomin from each pot, followed by the owner.
Thus consecrated, the rice was carried home for feasting.
After the harvest, the people of the lakes packed their rice stores in
skin pouches or bark containers and returned to their villages. Some of
the rice would be carried in containers to the winter camps, and some
would be stashed away at the village, like the surplus from the gardens, to
nourish the people when they returned the following year. Fishing was a
major preoccupation in the fall. Then as winter came on, the men made
brief excursions from the village to hunt or trap, while the women made
ready for the forthcoming move. Finally, the village broke up once more,
and the family groups headed for their scattered hunting camps.
Once snow covered the earth and the waterways froze, families on
the move made use of a vehicle the Ojibwa dubbed nobugidaban, or "to-
boggan." These flat-bottomed sleds, which curved up at the front to facili-
tate movement through the snow, were framed of hardwood that had
been felled in the winter when it was free of sap. Tribes in the southern
portion of the lakes region subsequently developed heavy toboggans that
could be loaded with several people, as well as their gear, and pulled by
horses. To the north, however, the forest was too dense and the grazing
land too scarce to support horses; when Ojibwas around Lake Superior re-
ceived a disbursement of saddles from the U.S. government, they served
strictly as a source of amusement. Among such northerly groups, as
among all tribes of the region in earlier times, toboggans were drawn by
hand or by teams of dogs and carried one or two passengers at most,
along with a limited load of possessions. The other family members would
walk, using snowshoes when the snow lay deep. The snowshoes were
framed of hardwood, with a netting composed of hide, twine, or sinew.
The Ojibwa called the rounded type of snowshoe the "bear paw" because
A pair ofOjibwa hunters bring ashore their
birch-bark canoes with a quarry ofdeer andwaterfowl. A German observer who lived
among the Lake Superior Ojibwas comment-ed that these people used canoes 'Us other
nomadic races do horses or camels."
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES50
it left a bearlike print in the snow and because legend had it that bears,
renowned for their craftiness, once wore such contraptions themselves.
In the winter as in other seasons, Indian hunters of the region relied
on various traps and on the bow and arrow. A man heading out in search
of quarry sometimes strapped a small toboggan to his back to carry his
catch home. He might also bring with him lures to attract animals. (One
wooden instrument, used in the spring or summer to attract deer, was fit-
ted with a reed that vibrated when the hunter blew into it, producing a
bleating sound reminiscent of a fawn calling its mother.) Certain herbs
were also considered effective in attracting game. These hunting charms
were usually smoked in a pipe together with a bit of tobacco, producing a
penetrating aroma that seemed to lure animals out of hiding. In addition, a
hunter might carry a torch to transfix deer and other prey at night.
Above all, however, the hunter depended on his cunning and persist-
ence. Before stalking prey with bow and arrow, he sometimes fastened an
arrowhead lightly to a shaft with sinew. Even if the point did not penetrate
too deeply, it was hard to dislodge, for the shaft would snap off as the ani-
mal thrashed on the ground or ran through the brush, leaving the flint em-
bedded in the flesh. Then the hunter followed his wounded prey tirelessly,
watching for scarlet traces in the snow. Sometimes the pursuit lasted all
day but the hunter seldom lost his quarry once he had drawn blood.
Although hunting might take a man away from his kin for brief peri-
ods during the winter, this was the season when the family was closest,
confined as they were to their shelters throughout the long, cold
nights. When setting up camp, the women covered the pole frame-
work of their wigwams with two layers of mats, one overlapping
the other to keep out the wind; panels of birch bark were
added to provide extra insulation. The wigwam customarily
had just one entrance, and that was covered tightly by a
blanket or hide, weighted down with a heavy stick. The
only other opening was the smoke hole located above
the fireplace. Typically, the father and mother slept on
either side of the entrance. To their right and left lay
their sons and daughters, respectively, while the oppo-
site side of the shelter from the entrance belonged to the old
people. When the weather was especially cold, one of the elders
stayed awake until dawn, feeding the fire and watching for sparks.
Before the family members removed their moccasins at night and
settled down to sleep with their feet toward the fire, children played
Ojibwa gamblersthrew thefour long
sticks in a contest ofchance known as
the snake game. Thefive shorter pieces
were used to keeptally. Also shown are
the carrying cases.
OM THE MOVE WITH THE SEASONS51
Winnebago women ofBlack River Falls, Wis-
consin, play a traditional game with bonedice; before them are small beans used to
keep score. The player on the left has placeda white cloth over her head, probably be-
cause she did not wish to be photographed.
games and adults busied themselves with handiwork. The men might re-
pair their snowshoes, while the women knotted twine into fishnets. Above
all, the evening was a time for weaving stories, an art at which the old
women excelled. Sometimes the storytellers dramatized their accounts by
circling the fire, grimacing and gesturing to the beat of a drum. They told of
a world filled with manitous-spirit powers that took innumerable forms.
In no season were the people closer to those mysterious forces than in
midwinter. To the Ojibwa, January was known as Gitci-manitou-gizis, or
the Big Spirit Moon. In that haunting time, when the wolves howled at
night and the chill wind moaned, the families in their shelters knew that all
the ingenuity bequeathed to them by their ancestors was not enough in it-
self to sustain them. It was only through the mercy of higher powers that
they found warmth and safety in the bitter depths of the year. -O-
t'V, Ski
'
H. i
<*
THESPIRTF
to
&
Everyyeai; a! fhe"blessing of the first fruits of the wild,
rice^a^sfJSn^WeTwotrkh'eerte-this prayer: "Thank~"
you spirit that again we come to see this rice that you
must have offered to the Indian for hinUojeaT" Unaer
—
:Myiftgthatage-old invocation was1
ll le bdiet thatmancF "*
min7wild"rice, belonged uniquely to thetnd ia t^-^feodi--that nourishe?ITFe^rctrrtuTe^s--w«Jl-as4heir bodies.
I^UtAmong the Ojibwa arttfthe^eTiolfftejec, in whose
lnpal"rnm^hiand54«©^o£th£jJc.e grew, thelfaditioTraf"
^ late^strrrrrrrer -harvest served as a reminder of the obliga-
tions they owed to the spirits, to the earth, and to each
other. They marked out^^ilypletsilicuteijcefield, guar-
--anteeing-everyone a*siTattrtfHh€4*5azesJLA§.they
worked, they let grams fall iwto-the-wateLas-an offering -
to the spirit of the lake. And they werscarefiolnot to
damage the-plants and so diminish nextyeartFcrop?
In the early years of the 20th ceTrtury-wheruKetoT-
lowing photogi'aphs were taken on reservationsinJ\Jini_
nesota and Wisconsin, the old ways stifip^vailed. Even
-icidajLjnarry-G^bwasandJVlenom-
inees look forward.to "making rice,"
taking vacations from their jobs and~
retummgT<Hheir-arvcestral lands in
order to harvest and prepare rice for
their families, and for sale to others^
in the traditional way.
"As our boat glides on the water,
we-pause to see where the rice looks
the darkest to deteffnirfe where it is
the ripest," observes Norma Smith,
_an Ojibwa from Wisconsin, "then" oneTJartrrefreadies for the first
swipe at the tall stalks. How good to"
hear the first rice hit the apron
"
J
A woman'sforked pole allows her to navigate the wild ricefields
withovt damaging the roots of the plants. The 1 9th-centuiy
engraving by Seth Eastman (inset) is somewhatfanciful—three peo-ple in a canoe would leave insufficient room for the rice.
BINDING THE STALKS
Afew weeks be/ore
the harvest, womenyeejtt out to bind the
stalks of\idldj£ee-i*i—theirfamily plots^in^r^- these photos, MaryRazcr ofWhite Earth
Reservation, Min-nesota, prepares herbinding stringfromstrips of&asswooa
r~~
—t—bafZJiibove) andthen ties rice stalks
together (right).
Ownership ofthesheaves was shownby'the color or pat-tern ofthe binding.
55
Binding a sheafofwild rice (above)
protects the grains
from birds and" makes-coHecting the
j~ticc-c(tsier—har-
vesters simply untie
~the sheaves andshake or brush the
ripe kernels directly
into the boat. At
left is a bundle ofbasswood-barktwine that was usedto bind the sheaves.
HEAPING THE HARVEST
56
i
In customaryJash~:'"
ion, a man poles the
boat while a womanuses a pair oflight-
weight ricing sticks,
like the-ones shownat left, to harvest the
grain. With onestick she bends the
stalks gently over
the gunwales; with
the other she brush-
es or knocks tlie
ripe kernels into the
bottom ofthe boat.
At Lac Court Or-
eilles, Wisconsin,
Alice White Cadrme—aims a tight, glanc-
ing stroke with her- liiJnffstirk. that witt_
—ie'move the ripe ker-
nels without break-
ing the stalks. EachMntM^aCtlm rtrhyf-—stick harvests about _
a quarter ofa pint ofkciu£lsiJfve~rnHi——^-—utes' workjusuallyyields a pound" of —
^TTce.^After- twohours, a bdatWce'
the one pictured be-
low might befilledwith wild rice more _^
than a foot deep'~—
—
ED
58
PROCESSINGTHE KERNEtS
Freshly harvested
rice mildews quickly
ifnot dried. Above, a^^T^zlAtanesota Ojibwa
woman dries the
rice kernelsfol-lowing the usual
method—exposing-the grains to light.
~-amfxriron~a birch
bark mat andeanstantly turning themwith a wooden pad-— die like the one pic-
tured above right.
Drying the rice an ascaffold (right) overa slow binningfirealso cures the grain
so it does not needto be parched later.
In birch-bark bas-
kets such as the oneat left, the Indians
carried the dried
rice to the parchingkettles. Parching, or
roasting^ the grain
(above) prevents the
kernelfrom sprout-
ing, loosens the hull
so it can be discard-
ed easily, and pre-
serves the rice.
60
m
A mortar and pestle (above) might also be
used to hull wild rice. The pestle was proba-
bly made ofa soft wood such as poplar.
1
,;^m—«—»-"V
WINNOWING THE CHATf
Holdinglight, shal-
low birch-bark win-
nowingtrays catted
"nooshkaac-tunaa-
ganarT~(shdwn at
right), two womentoss batches of
hulled rice into the
ah to let the winddisperse the paper-
thin chaff- A dry,
sunny, breezyday is
idealfor winnowing.
62
STORING RICE FOR THE WIT1TER
Prudentlndkinfamilies kept aplentiful store ofwild rice in Inns
like this one. Wild
rice was a year-
round staple, a life-
saver during hardwinters, and a com-modityfor trade.
"X
Menominee stored
wild rice in bags andbaskets madefiom -
the inner bark ofcedar or birch trees.
The rice was covered
with-a-layer-afhay
and the mouth ofthe bag sewn shut•wtrh'basswoodfiber.Kept dry, wild rice
will last indefinitely.
xj
64
BUILDINGABARKCANOE
The French explorer Samuel de
Champlain was the son of a sea
captain and a lifelong ocean voy-
ager, but he was astonished by the watercraft
he first saw on the Saint Lawrence River in
1 603. Two bark-covered canoes, each paddled
by two Indians, easily outsped and outmaneu-
vered his fully manned longboat, however his
oarsmen strained. Champlain became the first
European to advocate that his countrymen adopt this
light and maneuverable vessel for their own purposes.
It is not known how or when bark canoes were first
developed; no ancient examples or records exist. They
sprang into recorded history fully evolved, so elegantly
refined to their purpose that in four succeeding cen-
turies, no significant improvement has been made on
their design, one that affords light weight (important on
portages), shallow draft for shallow waters, carrying ca-
pacity, strength, and durability.
Manufactured with simple implements from plant
materials, the bark canoe was neither fragile nor crude.
Because its wooden ribs and planks were split, they were
stronger and more flexible than sawed wood. The com-
65
bination of elasticity and light weight found in the bark of
the paper birch, the canoe covering widely used by the
Great Lakes Indians, has not been surpassed by modernmaterials. The joinery, painstakingly fitted and bound
with split tree roots, was as tough as any done with
modern tools and fasteners. And the final product was a
triumph of grace and beauty.
Although Indian bark canoes typically measured
about 20 feet in length, there were many variations-
some based on tribal custom, most based on function.
Hunters probing small streams overhung by dense fo-
liage used eight-foot, low-ended models. Those braving
white water or large lakes needed soaring bows and
sterns to ward off turbulent water and favored deep,
V-shaped hulls to hold a course. Warriors want
ed narrow hulls for speed; freighters
preferred a wide beam for
carrying capacity
(when the
fur trade was at its height, some canoes were made as
long as 36 feet and capable of transporting four tons).
Canoe routes stretched all the way from the Atlantic
Ocean to the Pacific, requiring portages of at most a
dozen miles or so. But no region ^^was more accessible to paddlers
than the Great Lakes area, with
its ubiquitous watercourses.
There, canoe building was a m V \craft ofsupreme impor-
tance and refinement.
The highly crafted utilitarian beauty ofthebark canoe, such as this Ojibwa model, sug-
gested to 19th-century naturalist HenryDavid Thoreau a "long antiquity in which its
manufacture has been gradually perfected."
66
A modem canoe builder strips barkfroma birch in northern Minnesota (left). Thestripped tree will survive, its white replaced
with dark-colored scar tissue. The bindings
ofeach canoe consisted ofpencil-thick black
spruce roots—grubbedfrom swampy ground(above), then trimmed, debarked, and split.
THE RAW
C^ ATH \* 1? I IVC^ Tne trees whose wood and
vli\ I 1 1 L, lYl 1 1 vl bark were best for a canoe-birch, cedar, and spruce—abounded in
the moist ground near the waterways
1VI ATF 1? I A I C °f tne northern forest. Especially
1 liV 1 Ljl\l/vL/^ in the centuries before white
people appeared, the supply seemed in-
exhaustible. But it was not easy to col-
lect the building materials.
After finding a large expanse of un-
blemished bark on a straight tree, canoe
builders had to assess its flexibility and
thickness. According to one modern ar-
tisan, finding the 20 or so pieces of bark
needed for a single canoe involves sur-
veying a square mile of birch trees.
The cedar used for a canoe's ribs,
planks, thwarts, and gunwales had to
be free ofknots and twists so the crafts-
men could readily split the pieces to
thicknesses as little as one-eighth ofan
inch. In all, as much as two-thirds of the
total building time was devoted to find-
ing and preparing the materials.
67
Indian canoe builders roll out afresh piece
ofbirch bark andflatten it with rocks in
order to prevent curling; this procedure wasused when the canoe was not to be built im-
mediately. To avoid puncturing the bark,
onlyflat, smooth stones were used.
68
A modern Ojibwa canoe builder using asteel knife in place ofthe traditional stone
wedge splits a batten ofnorthern white
cedar toform a canoe's ribs (above). Cedarwas prizedfor this purpose because, whenthoroughly seasoned, it splits cleanly and
easily. An average canoe required 40 or 50ribs, which had to be soaked in boiling water
so they could be bent to shape (right).
PREPARING
SKELETON
On a shaded bed of firm earth,
cleared of rocks and roots, Indi-
rp1-IT7 r^RAf^T'Q an canoe builders began by
1 IlL/ V>l\/\1 1 \3 shaping and lashing together
the gunwales—the top edge of the
canoe—with carved crosspieces,
or thwarts, mortised in place. The result
was the gunwale frame, which dictated
the length and width of the finished ca-
noe, as well as the curvature of its edge.
Until the advent of Europeans, Indi-
ans felled the trees they needed with
fire; split the pieces to size with wedgesand knives of flint, jasper, or bone,
sometimes driven with wooden mauls;
shaped thwarts and paddles by abrad-
ing the wood with chisels and scrapers
fashioned from bone, shell, or beaver's
teeth; and drilled holes with awls madefrom deer antlers. The appearance of
steel knives did not improve—but mere-
ly accelerated—the workmanship.
69
Workers drive stakes into the earth aroundthe outline ofthe gunwaleframe. The next
step was to remove the stakes and set themaside with theframe in order to place the
birch bark on the building bed.
70
Rachel Dougherty, wife and daughter ofPotawatomi canoe builders in Michigan(left), surveys a canoe taking shape on the
building bed. The gunwaleframe has beenraised into place (below) and has been bent
upward at each end to establish the sheer,
or upper profile, ofthe canoe. The birch
bark has been shaped to theframe andfixedin place temporarily with stakes.
Having spread the
birch bark on the
building bed and re-
placed the gunwaleframe within the
outline ofthe stakeholes, artisans place
heavy rocks on the
frame to hold it in
place while the barkis shaped around it.
71
Qu /i Of ]V/^ Contrary to popular illustration, a
1 1/VT 111 vl birch-bark canoe was made with the
Tup C ICI 1M wnite outer surface of the bark on the
1 1 1 Lj v3 111 1 1 inside of the vessel and the tan inner
surface facing outward. Unlike modernboatbuilders, Indian craftsmen formed
the outer covering before placing the
inner planks and ribs.
As the bark was bent upward to the
shape of the frame, the builder some-
times cut slits in the material and over-
lapped it to avoid wrinkles. Often, addi-
tional pieces of bark had to be stitched
on to cover the beam's widest section.
With a canoe-shaped bark envelope
formed, the craftsmen raised the gun-
wale frame approximately a foot, estab-
lishing the vessel's freeboard, and set it
on wood posts. They then fastened the
bark to the frame by adding an outer
rim ofwood to the gunwale and peg-
ging it down. Once they had fitted the
bow and stern with bark deck flaps,
they could begin the lashing.
Craftsmenfoldthe bark up to the
gunwaleframe,holding it in place
by tying opposite
stakes together onthe inside, and
shaping theframewith splints placed
crosswise on the
stakes against the
outside ofthe hull.
While a helper holds the pieces taut (left), amodern builder cross-stitches bark to the
prow ofa nearly completed canoe. After
stitching is complete and the inner plankshave been set in place (above), the ribs are
pressed into place, their ends slipping into
the open sections ofthe inner gunwale.
Ojibwa women use split spruce roots to lash
together the inner and outer pieces ofthegunwale, at the same time stitching the bark
into place between the pieces. They leave
spaces between the sections ofbindingforinsertion ofthe ribs. Bent stem pieces havebeen inserted that will give the distinctive,
graceful curved shape to both bow and stem.
73
STITCHINGIt took 500 feet of split black
spruce root to complete the bind-
ANn CPT iriNn ingsofatypicalbirch-
AlllJ OrLlV,lllVi bark canoe. The pencil-
size roots were debarked, split
lengthwise, and then stored in water to
keep them flexible until they were
needed. The roots were applied with
their flat side against the surfaces of the
boat, the rounded side outward.
Bindings were passed through holes
punched in the bark with awls to secure
the coveiing to the gunwales and stem
pieces. Each end of the length of root
used was tucked under adjacent wrap-
pings to hold it fast. To splice pieces of
bark together, women usually used a
cross-stitch, sometimes reinforcing the
seam with a thin wood batten. Splices
were made with the overlap facing the
stem, so that the seam would not be
tom open when the canoe scraped over
a rock. Thus the canoes, although sym-
metrical, were not reversible.
Workers insert cedar planks along the
length ofthe canoe toform a hull inside the
bark covering. Two dozen or more planks,
each split to a thickness ofabout one-eighth
ofan inch, were placed so that they over-
lapped in the midsection by six inches. SomeIndian groups lapped each plank over its
neighbor, while others laid the planksflush.
74
A modem canoebuilder smears pitch
on a seam. Many oftoday's craftsmen,
in a departurefromtradition, use as-
phalt pitch instead
ofspruce gum, be-
cause the latter is
difficult to prepare
and not as effective.
While a woman tends a pot ofheated sprucepitch, two others use the substance to seal
stitched seams in a canoe's bark skin. Ifaseam cracked, a traveler could make repairs
by chewing a wad ofspruce resin until it waspliable, then applying it with a hot stick.
ESS9M
QI7 A! f]V/^ The final step in making a canoe sea-
O I_/T\l-/111 vJ worthy—sealing the stitched seams in
'TW p* Qp/i iyiQ the bark—was the only one for
lllLy )3Ly/ii 1*3 which early Indian builders did
not have an entirely satisfactory materi-
al. The Indians scraped resin from fallen
or damaged spruce trees, or collected it
in a wound made in a standing tree's
bark, then heated it and skimmed off
impurities. The resulting pitch cracked
in cold weather and melted in hot, so
it had to be tempered with judicious
An Ojibwa woman,photographed in
the 1 980s (above),
enjoys the maidenvoyage ofa just-
completed canoe.
amounts of animal fat and charcoal.
A last round oftouch-ups to the ca-
noe included stuffing the bow and stemwith shavings or moss held in with
headboards (to help keep the vessel
buoyant when loaded down) and peg-
ging strips ofwood on top of the gun-
wales to protect the lashings. Before
launching, the bow might be decorated
with a personal or tribal symbol. Then,
perhaps a fortnight after the work be-
gan, the canoe was ready for the water.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES77
2
THE REALMOFTHEMANITOUSPuppets such as
these Menomineefigures, attached to
sticks, were manip-ulated by shamansofthe Great Lakesregion in cere-
monies intended to
help heal illness,
bring lovers togeth-
er, and produce oth-
er beneficial effects.
"The story that I'm going to tell you won't he
about this earth. It will be about a different
world." So begins an Ojibwa account of the
birth of Wenebojo, the fabled trickster and wonder-worker
who was celebrated by many tribes of the region under one
name or another. Before Wenebojo was born, the story goes,
there were just two lonely beings "living in this
other world: an old lady and her daughter." For
food, they had only the berries the girl gathered
in the fields. Morning after morning, she went out on her own to harvest
the ripe fruit. Then one day as she labored beneath the noontime sun, a
gust of wind sprang up and lifted the skirt that covered her. She thought
nothing of it at the time, the tale relates, "because no one was there to see
her." When she returned home with her pickings, however, her mother
sensed a change in her.
"When you go out every day to gather berries," the old woman asked,
"do you ever see anybody out there 7 "
"No," her daughter answered. "I'm all by myself all day"
But soon the girl herself began to sense a change. Something had
happened to her, but all she could remember was the glare of the noon-
time sun and the gust of wind. She told her mother about it, and the old
lady knew at once what had taken place: The spirit of the sun had gazed
down on the girl from above and possessed her with the help of the wind.
Shortly thereafter, the girl left her mother and went off into the woods,
where she gave birth to three baby boys-one who looked quite human, a
second who looked less human, and a third who had nothing human
about him and was made of stone. The firstborn was Wenebojo, and he
grew up strong and fierce. According to the legend, "he killed everything
he could kill, even the little birds." When he had hunted all around, he
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES78
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yearned to travel to distant lands, but he was held back by his youngest
brother, the boy of stone, who could not move.
"I will kill our brother," Wenebojo told the second-born, "and then we
won't have to stay in this one place anymore." Wenebojo attacked the boy
of stone with a poleax, but he only wore out his weapon. At length, the vic-
tim spoke up and told Wenebojo how to destroy him: "Build a fire, put mein, and when I get to look like a red-hot coal, throw some water on me."
Wenebojo did as he was told and cracked his youngest brother into pieces.
Then Wenebojo and his surviving sibling were free to roam. "They had
no special place to come back to now," the tale relates. "They traveled all
the time." Eventually, the younger brother tired of wandering and began to
lag behind. Once again, Wenebojo yearned to be free of restraint.
"Brother, can't you wait for me here a few days?" he asked impatient-
ly "After four days I'll come back." To keep his brother safe until he re-
turned, Wenebojo dug a hole for him and covered him up, leaving a stone
there to mark the place. But Wenebojo did not come back in four days: "He
traveled and traveled and traveled. He went just as fast as he could, be-
cause there was no one to hold him back now." When he finally remem-
bered his brother and returned for him, it was too late: Spirits had claimed
Dressed in clothing
that reflects endur-
ing native tradi-
tions, an Ojibwa
family gathers in its
wigwam in 1935.
Among the tribal
lore passed downfrom generation to
generation within
the home werehaunting stories ofthe spirit world.
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS79
him, and he was on his way to the next world, a journey that took him
across a river spanned by a slippery log that was really a snake. Hence-
forth, all humans would have to follow that path when they died. Wenebo-
jo regretted the loss of his brother, but once he had paid his respects, he
was too hungry for adventure to be weighed down by thoughts of those he
had dispensed with. "Now that Wenebojo was all alone," the tale attests,
"he traveled wherever he wanted to go."
This recent version of the old Wenebojo legend, related to folklorist
Victor Barnouw by an Ojibwa holy man and storyteller who went
by the name of Tom Badger, tells of a trait that long helped the
people of the lakes survive under trying circumstances—a readiness to
leave behind familiar surroundings and seek out fresh opportunities.
Much as Indians of the region prized such venturesomeness, however,
they also knew that misfortune awaited those who pursued their own
ends and ignored the ties that bound them to the kindred spirits all
around. They realized that Wenebojo was not truly on his own after the
death of his brothers, any more than his mother was alone when she went
out to pick berries. For the world was alive with the mysterious beings
called manitous. No one could elude the majestic powers aloft, such as the
sun and the four winds, or the bountiful spirits that inhabited the earth and
watched over the animals and the growing things, or the often-deadly
forces that lurked in the watery depths.
Wenebojo himself was descended from spirits, but he resembled hu-
mans in his reckless pride. Ever eager to prove himself against rival pow-
ers, he sometimes met with humiliating setbacks. Yet his mishaps were no
less instructive to the people than his triumphs. By following his ups and
downs, youngsters learned to temper boldness with caution. Through
Wenebojo, they learned their place in society and in the world.
Even some of Wenebojo's most foolish acts brought unforeseen bene-
fits to the people. As Tom Badger related, Wenebojo once succeeded in
snaring some fowl by building a lodge and inviting them to a dance. As the
birds entered the lodge, the trickster shook his rattle and proclaimed: "I
want you all to close your eyes. Anybody that opens his eyes will have
funny-looking red eyes forever." His guests complied, and as they sang
and danced, Wenebojo proceeded to wring their necks, one by one. Final-
ly, a loon who had joined in the festivities grew wary and opened his eyes.
He cried out a warning, and the surviving birds flew from Wenebojo's
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES80
grasp. The loon escaped too, but he and his descendants
paid a price-they had funny-looking red eyes thereafter.
As for Wenebojo, his glee was hardly diminished by the
loss of a few birds. He was so pleased with himself, in fact,
that he grew careless. That night, he put the dead birds on a
fire to roast and curled up by the flames to sleep, leaving
it to his rear end to watch for intruders. Sure enough,
thieves crept up in the dark and made off with his catch.
(The Ojibwa said that these stealthy beings came from
the south wind, while the Menominee likened them to
the Winnebago, their furtive rivals to the south.)
When he awoke and found his dinner gone, Wenebo-
jo was beside himself with rage. He blamed his rear end
for failing to sound the alarm. As Tom Badger put it, he
was determined "to give his hind end a lesson," so he
thrust it into the fire. Soon, his bones were crackling, and
Wenebojo began to feel that the punishment was too
much. So he walked off into the bush, where his burning
flesh set some weeds afire. Wenebojo looked behind
him and saw fragrant smoke rising to the heavens. He
had discovered tobacco—a gift for which humankind
would remain eternally grateful. Afterward, some of
Wenebojo's charred flesh fell to the ground, where it
formed a lichen that women later gathered in times of
want and made into a porridge. Thus people profited
greatly from Wenebojo's misadventure.
Wenebojo endowed humans with other assets as
well. He was the first who dared to eat wild rice, and he
showed people how to make use of many other pre-
cious plants and tools. His great legacy, however, was
to teach humans how to deal with the animals that
lived all around them. As a hunter, Wenebojo relied
more on subterfuge than on brute strength. Once when
he spied a moose in the distance, he threw the animal
off its guard by claiming to be its long-lost kinsman.
"Brother, so this is where you are!" he called out to the
moose. "I've been looking all over for you! We were
brought up by different people when we were small
babies, so it's a long time since I last saw you. You
:V<
v?r : ;•\
This weatheredOjibwa effigy ofthemid- 1800s may rep-
resent a protective
spirit, or manitou.
Such carvings weredisplayed outside
the home to keepthefamily safe;
passersby some-times placed cloth-
ing or ornaments onthefigure in order to
honor the manitou.
THE REALM OF THE MAMTOUS81
Ojibwas draped clothing over the branches
of 'Offering" trees like this one to ward off
misfortune. The clothing was offered to the
sky manitous to secure their blessings.
wouldn't remember me." Intrigued, the
lone moose drew closer, and Wenebojo
asked him if he had heard the news about
the fellow who killed his brother. The
moose was curious and wanted to know
how it happened. So Wenebojo had the
animal stand sideways with his head
averted. Then he drew his bow and shot
the moose in the tlank. "What are you do-
ing, Wenebojo?" his victim cried out.
"You're killing me." To which the trickster
replied: "Well, brother, I told you as much."
The Great Lakes tribes admired such
cunning, for they knew that hunters lived
by their wits. Some people even imitated
Wenebojo when tracking their prey. In one
incident observed by an ethnographer in
the late 19th century, an Ojibwa boarded a
canoe with his wife and paddled after a
moose that had jumped into a lake to es-
cape pursuing wolves. As the man closed
in on the moose, he made ready to slit its
throat. But all the while, he was calling out
to it in a soothing voice, "Don't worry, wewant to get acquainted with you."
Despite such stratagems, the Indians
of the lakes region never forgot that all
members of each species were watched
over by a guardian manitou that was sym-
pathetic to respectful humans. For that
reason, people felt beholden to the ani-
mals they stalked and honored them in
their prayers and in their stories. Although Wenebojo appeared to be cal-
lous in the extreme when he called the moose he was about to slay his
"brother," many tales told about the fabled trickster confirm that he was
closely related to the creatures around him. Indeed, he could take the form
ofany animal at will, be it a grasping predator or an elusive prey. He some-
times appeared as a hare—an animal the Indians never ceased to marvel
at as it dashed through the snow in winter, all but invisible to its foes. In
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES82
that guise, the trickster was known to some Indians as the Great Hare.
Wenebojo's profound kinship with animals was the theme of one of
the most compelling legends told about him. Sometime after he fooled the
moose, it was said, Wenebojo came upon a pack of timber wolves—one
old one and several younger ones—and tried to deceive them in the same
manner. "Brothers, come here," he called out. "I've walked all over, looking
for you. I heard that you were around here somewhere. The last time I saw
you we were babies. You wouldn't remember me." But when the wolves
came closer, Wenebojo discovered that he had met his match. These rest-
less hunters were indeed his kin. "The wolves had no place that they could
call home," related Tom Badger. "They traveled just like Wenebojo did." So
the trickster joined the pack. The old wolf became his guardian and the
young ones became his siblings.
When the pack ventured out on long journeys, however, Wenebojo
found to his dismay that he could barely keep up. The old wolf reluctantly
concluded that they must leave Wenebojo behind, but he kindly offered
him the company of his favorite wolf brother so that Wenebojo could rest
while his kinsman prowled for food. One evening, the young wolf failed to
return from his hunting. Wenebojo went out after him, following in his
tracks until they ended ominously by a river. The wolf had fallen prey to
treacherous water spirits.
For the first time, Wenebojo was overcome by grief. He raged against
the destructive manitous and swore to avenge his wolf brother. He carved
a great bow from a cedar log and cut two arrows, one for each of the spir-
its that ruled in the depths. Then he sought out a sandy bank where those
manitous were said to emerge in the form of snakes to bask in the sun on
fine days. There Wenebojo lay in wait, disguised as a tree stump.
In time, the two deadly manitous appeared. "I've never seen that
stump before," one great snake said to the other as they slithered ashore.
"Maybe that's Wenebojo. He does everything."
"That can't be Wenebojo," the other spirit replied. "He isn't enough of a
manitou to do that."
But his companion remained suspicious. So he coiled himself around
the stump and squeezed as hard as he could. The pressure was so great
that Wenebojo nearly gave himself away before the snake relented.
"That's not Wenebojo," the manitou declared. Reassured, he and his com-
panion fell asleep in the sun. Whereupon Wenebojo resumed his human
form, drew his great bow, and mortally wounded his two enemies.
The demise of the manitous so disturbed the waters they ruled over
Indians confront two serpents and a water
monster called Michipeshu—capable ofwhipping up storms—in a rock painting onthe Ontario shore ofLake Superior. The peo-
ple ofthe lakes tried to placate such water
spirits through prayers and gifts of tobacco.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES.,
84
that a great flood arose. Wenebojo climbed the highest mountain, then the
highest tree on the mountain, and just managed to keep his head above
water. From his perch, he looked around and saw that a few other re-
sourceful creatures had survived the deluge—the otter, the beaver, and the
muskrat. "Brothers," he called out, "could you go down and get some
earth 7 If you do, 1 will make a world for you and me to live on." The otter
and the beaver tried and failed, but the muskrat succeeded in bringing up
a bit of earth, and from that clump Wenebojo made a floating island that
grew ever bigger and became the world we know today.
Some say that Wenebojo grew even more daring after this great feat
and defied all the enduring spirits, above and below. He was still grieving
for his brother the wolf, and he had no fear of any competing power.
"Whoever is underneath the earth down there," he declared, "I will pull
them out and bring them up on top here. I can play with them and do
whatever I want with them, because I own this earth." Likewise, he defied
the spirits above. "Whoever is up there," he shouted to the sky "I will get
them and pull them down. I will play with them here and do just as I please
with them. I will even knock down the sky."
Alarmed by Wenebojo's threats, the greatest of the manitous below
the earth met with the greatest of the spirits above the earth, and the two
came up with a plan. They decided that Wenebojo needed kin to watch
over him. He had done away with his own brothers and lost his kinsman
the wolf. For all his accomplishments, he remained young and impetuous.
So the spirits sent to him a mother and father—the first people on earth.
They were not his true parents: He called the woman his aunt and the manhis uncle. Yet they helped him find his place in the world. And all the peo-
ple who descended from that first couple knew they too would have to
learn their rightful place—between the spirits above and the spirits below,
and between the older generation and the younger one. When they did so,
they would share in the wisdom that came even to reckless Wenebojo in
time. As Tom Badger remarked: "Wenebojo is still alive and can hear what
we're saying right now. He's probably laughing when he thinks about howhe lived when he was young and about all the foolish things he did."
As illustrated by the adventures of Wenebojo, the people of the lakes in-
habited a world that was home to an array of spirits who might be either
helpful or harmful, depending on their disposition and on how they were
treated. Fortunately, infants entering this complex universe did not have to
make their own way like Wenebojo and deal with the manitous alone.
THE REALM OF THE MAMITOUS85
An Ojibwa mother holds her infant in a
cradleboard, equipped with a wooden hoopto protect the child's head. Parents dangled
objects ofspiritual significancefrom the
hoopfor the infant to admire—includinggiftsfrom the elder who named the child.
From the start, they were guided
by their elders. And as they pro-
ceeded on their spiritual jour-
ney—a pilgrimage that lasted a
lifetime and continued even af-
ter death-they were strength-
ened by the rituals of family
clan, and community, all of
which served to keep individuals
on the true path.
Traditionally, the first direct
involvement of the child in the
ritual life of the tribe came in the
form of the naming ceremony
Among the Ojibwa, the parents
asked an older man or woman of
good reputation to bestow on
their child a name—and, by ex-
tension, the blessings of the
manitous that the elder had en-
joyed. At a feast held when the
child was one month old, the el-
der recounted for the assembled
family and friends the benefits
he or she had received from the
spirits. In particular, the elder
spoke of a special power re-
ceived during a vision quest,
which was customarily conduct-
ed about the time of puberty It
was this power and this identity
that the elder was conveying
temporarily to the child until the youngster matured. After announcing the
name, the elder embraced the infant and joined the company in a feast
and in prayers for the child's long life and good health
The name thus conveyed was important in the ritual life of the child
thereafter. An Ojibwa namer bestowed on the child a token gift that would
remain among the individual's sacred possessions. Youngsters were
watched closely for any aberrant behavior that might indicate they had
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES86
been given a ceremonial name that did not suit them. The ceremonial
name was seldom if ever used in daily life. Instead, the child was referred
to by a nickname that alluded to some characteristic trait or behavior. A
girl who scratched her playmates when they pestered her might become
known as Little Cat, for example, while a boy who kept to himself might re-
ceive the nickname Stands Alone.
An infant spent the major part of the first year of life bound to a cradle-
board. With feet placed against a footboard and head protected by a loop
of hickory, the snugly wrapped baby could be carried on its mother's back
or propped against a tree as she worked. Mothers cut holes in the soles of
the infant's moccasins so that any spirit tempted to claim the new life
would relent when it found that the moccasins were in no condition for
the journey to the afterworld.
Infants were seldom weaned before the age of three or four, and tod-
dlers were treated indulgently by their family. There were taboos against
striking children, or even subjecting them to harsh criticism. As befitted a
society where leaders influenced people by setting an example rather than
by issuing orders, parents were models of firmness and fairness for chil-
dren to emulate. When youngsters persisted in misbehaving, parents en-
couraged obedience by telling them stories of animals and manitous that
would harm wayward children. Youngsters playing in dangerous areas
were frightened off with a scarecrow or a family member wearing a
hideous mask, and children who refused to settle down at night were told
that an owl would carry them off and eat them if they did not go to sleep.
Until the age of 10 or so, a child's life was spent learning and practic-
ing the skills of adulthood under the supervision of the extended family.
Each child had many guardians; the term mother was applied to the birth
mother and her sisters, and the term father to the natural father and his
brothers. Through stories, games, and playacting, fathers and uncles
taught boys the rudiments of hunting, while mothers and aunts intro-
duced girls to their responsibilities. Girls learned to make and care for
cornhusk dolls, for example, while boys practiced with toy bows and ar-
rows. In time, boys were allowed to accompany their elders on real hunts.
When a youngster killed his first animal, the entire family joined in a cele-
bratory feast dedicated to the spirit guardian of that species.
In training their youngsters, parents made little distinction between
spiritual and practical lessons, for all useful skills were said to come from
the manitous. Before they were old enough to help gather materials for the
building of a canoe, for example, boys and girls learned to be thankful for
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS87
Red wool covers this
horse effigy, carved
by a Potawatomi ofWisconsin in the
19th century. Bythen, horses were a
common sight in the
lakes region andwere celebrated in
legends and lore.
the spirits that gave of
themselves to make the task
possible. According to one
Ojibwa tale that was passed
down from generation to genera-
tion, Wenebojo built the first canoe after meeting in council with the trees
of the forest and appealing to them for assistance. The birch agreed to do-
nate its sturdy bark for the skin of the craft, the cedar kindly volunteered
timber for the frame, the tamarack contributed its roots to tie up the bark,
and the pine consented to "shed a few tears of pitch to cement the whole
together and make it waterproof."
Such inspirational tales were told during the long winter evenings,
when the youngsters gathered around the fire in the snug wigwam and
listened to elders who had spent a lifetime memorizing the lore of the
tribe. "I have known some Indians," recalled one Ojibwa, "who could com-
mence to relate legends and stories in the month of October and not end
until quite late in the spring, and on every evening of this long term tell a
new story." Tales of a sacred nature were never recounted during the
warmer months, when dangerous underwater spirits emerged in the
guise of snakes and frogs. A wise person did not speak of sacred things
again until such creatures went back into hiding late in the year.
Learning the identities and propensities of the manitous was as im-
portant to youngsters as getting to know their human neighbors and kin.
The most remote of the manitous were those that resided high up in the
sky—the spirits of the male sun and the female moon and the four winds.
The sun and the moon were thought of as great and good, while the four
winds brought changes in the weather and in the seasons that might be
either beneficial or calamitous. In the air below the domain of the highest
manitous hovered the spirits of the birds, from the sacred eagle to the fear-
some owl and the awe-inspiring thunderbird. That fabled being, which
struck thunder from its wings and hurled lightning bolts from its talons,
was not always to be dreaded. It could confer power on warriors and
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES88
chiefs, for example. On earth dwelt the spirits that supervised the animals
and either helped or hindered hunters, along with the manitous that con-
trolled harvests, presided over specific rituals or cures, or inhabited cer-
tain mysterious features such as strangely shaped rocks. At the lowest
level—beneath the surface of lakes and rivers and beneath the floating is-
land of the earth itself—lurked the fearsome manitous that caused drown-
ings, floods, and other misfortunes.
Other terrible beings were said to lurk in the forest or at the ends of the
earth. Chief among them was the windigo, a monster who devoured hu-
mans or took control of them. People possessed by the windigo became
cannibals themselves. One sign that an individual had been touched by
the windigo was gluttony, and children were cautioned to eat moderately
or risk being regarded as likely cannibals. Some people who were falling
under the windigo's influence tried to protect those around them from the
consequences. In the early 20th century, the Ojibwas who lived on Parry
Island in Georgian Bay told of a strange old man who was sometimes seen
sharpening sticks on which to roast people. Fortunately, the old man knew
in advance when the evil hunger was coming on and warned others away.
As one neighbor remarked gratefully, "He died before he became a real
An Ojibwa couple sit
side by side at the
time oftheir mar-riage in 1869, with
well-wishers in the
background. "You
will share the samefire," an Ojibwa hus-
band and wife weretold when they mar-ried. "You will walkthe same trail."
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS89
windigo." Sometimes described as being made of ice, the windigo was
most to be feared in winter, when any prolonged period of bad luck on the
part of the hunters left people prey to starvation and dreadful cravings.
Knowledge of the spirit world came to youngsters not only from sto-
ries but also from dreams. Children were encouraged to remember their
dreams and speak of them, for dreams often brought messages from the
manitous. "In the old days," one Ojibwa remarked, "our people had no ed-
ucation. They could noL learn from books nor from teachers. All their wis-
dom and knowledge came to them in dreams. They tested their dreams,
and in that way learned their own strength."
By the time they reached puberty, youngsters were ready to seek out
the special dream, or vision, that would define them as adults. Among the
Great Lakes peoples as among tribes elsewhere in North America, this vi-
sion quest was the height of religious experience and was often preceded
by fasting. Children were tested with an offering of food, often accompa-
nied by one of charcoal; youngsters who were ready for the quest rejected
the food and marked their faces with charcoal to signify a fast. Such self-
denial, which children practiced for short periods even before puberty,
prepared them not only for the vision quest but also for the ritual fasting
that warriors underwent before battle and for the privation that hunters
and their kin had to endure patiently in lean times.
As the time for the quest approached, parents and elders frequently
offered specific instruction about the kind of vision to be expected and
what it might mean. They offered examples of good and powerful visions,
contrasted with dangerous or useless results. Proper timing was essential.
A vision pursued by a child not yet mature enough to understand it could
cause illness, while delaying the quest for too long could leave a child
lethargic for life. Quests were seldom carried out in summer, because a
call to the spirit world then might be answered by the underwater mani-
tous. The transitional times of late fall or early spring were regarded as the
proper seasons for the quest.
Youngsters of both sexes sought visions in this way. For girls, the ex-
perience sometimes coincided with the period of fasting and isolation at
the time of their first menstruation. Alternatively, girls might venture out
as boys did in search of a vision. In such cases, a parent often escorted the
child to a secluded hilltop—the Menominee had a small lodge built for the
purpose-or a platform built in a tree, where solitude would be absolute
and uninterrupted. There the youngster waited and fasted, except for a lit-
tle nourishment taken after five days. Success was expected after about 1
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES90
days, but was by no means assured. Sometimes it was necessary to try
again and again, and in rare cases, no vision ever appeared and the
youngster was regarded as uninspired. Occasionally, a vision was rejected
as inappropriate, and another try was made.
Although much depended on this vision quest, children were urged
not to ask the spirits for too much. A legend handed down by the Win-
nebago told of a youngster who sought a vision of the creator, Maona.
This was unwise, for Maona, or Earth Maker, could be seen only through
his creations. Nonetheless, the youth "blackened his face, as was the cus-
tom, and fasted four days or more, and dreamed of many things; then he
ate a little food and fasted again. So he persevered until he had dreamed of
everything on the earth and under the earth, or in the air; he dreamed of
the whole world, but he never saw Maona." At length, a voice told him to
be satisfied and end his quest: "You have dreamed of Maona because you
have dreamed of all his works."
Yet the stubborn young man persisted, until at last a spirit claiming to
be Maona appeared before him and promised him immortality: "You can
never die, because you are like me. You have dreamed of all my works, you
know them all, and so you are like me." As the spirit departed, however,
the youngster could see "that it was only a chicken hawk, one of the evil
spirit's birds." The youngster cried in sorrow and continued his fast until
the voice spoke to him again in warning: "Cease trying to dream of Maona.
There are many more little birds and creatures of the evil spirit that maydeceive you. You can dream no more, for you have seen all things."
In this instance, the youngster who sought too great a dream suffered
only discouragement. But one Ojibwa legend told of a boy who, having al-
ready experienced a vision, continued to fast at the urging of his father in
order to increase his power. The manitous turned him into a robin. Others
who searched too long and hard for a vision risked becoming murderers
or madmen. In the quest for inspiration, as in all things, the people of the
lakes counseled moderation.
In most cases, seekers who fasted devoutly aroused the pity of the
spirits and were granted a vision that inspired them ever after. This vision
was seldom spoken of. One might discuss it with one's father or with a
shaman—young Menominees were expected to go to the shaman for a full
interpretation—but to tell of the vision was to summon the manitous,
something not to be done casually. As a result, visions were rarely set
down in writing. The few that have been recorded, however, have a com-
mon outcome: the appearance of a being who might take any form—ani-
THE REALM OF THE MAN1TOUS91
Ojibwas perform a scalp dance after a mockbattle at Minnesota's White Earth Reserva-
tion in 1910. During such ceremonies, menproclaimed their spirit power by singing
songs and raising poles topped with enemyscalps like the one at left, claimedfrom aDakota Sioux in the 19th century andadorned withfeathers and a beaded band.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES92
mal, human, or supernatural—and who offered the
seeker compassion, insight, good fortune, and
lifelong spiritual guidance.
In one vision, recorded in the mid- 19th
century, an Ojibwa youth "heard the winds
whistle, saw the tree waving its top, the
earth heaving, heard the waters roaring, be-
cause they were all troubled and agitated." A
manitou appeared to the boy, saying: "I amfrom the rising sun. I will come and see you
again. You will not see me often." The boy's fa-
ther subsequently interpreted his vision: "My
son, the god of the winds is kind to you; the
aged tree I hope may indicate long life; the
wind may indicate that you will travel much;
the water which you saw, and the winds, will
carry your canoe safely through the waves."
In another vision, set down in the early
20th century, an Ojibwa recalled that on the
fifth night of his fast he dreamed of a large,
beautiful bird. He had already decided to reject
his first vision, however, so he continued his
quest. Three nights later, another bird ap-
peared, and this one took him in his dream "to
the north where there was only ice. There were
very old birds there who promised me long life
and health. I accepted and was brought back
to my lodge." As the bird departed, the seeker
recognized it as a white loon. For the rest of his
life, therefore, that young man would have a
special bond with the spirit of the white loon.
This relationship would be hinted at, although
perhaps not revealed, by the new name he
adopted after his vision quest to replace the one
that had been assigned him during his naming
ceremony. And the loon would figure in the per-
sonal hymn he would sing thereafter, as well as in
the picture he would draw on rock or tattoo on his
body as a lifelong reminder of his vision.
Decorated with
quills, this beaver
medicine bundlewas carried by amember ofthe Foxtribe. Such bundlesheld sacred items
from which the own-er drew strength in
times ofadversity.
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS93
tAfter puberty, relationships beyond the immediate family became
more important to the individual. The most significant of these
ties was clan membership. Children in the lakes region were
born into their father's clan (an exception being the Huron, who like the
Iroquois followed the custom of joining the mother's clan). Like the indi-
vidual, the clan had its own spiritual guardian—an ancestral manitou that
bequeathed power to all future members. That spirit, known as the dodem,
or "totem," was symbolized by a pictograph and celebrated in clan leg-
ends; in addition, a bundle of sacred objects relating to the guardian spirit
was often kept in the lodge where clan members gathered for ceremonies.
Most clans of the region traced their ancestry to the spirits of familiar and
respected animals, such as the bear, the deer, the moose, and the eagle.
But even dreaded creatures could inspire clans: The Winnebago had one
devoted to the thunderbird and another devoted to the water monster.
The role of clans in the community varied from tribe to tribe. In no
case could young people marry within their clan, a taboo that prevented
incestuous alliances between descendants of the same spiritual ancestor
and helped bring together members of different groups. Upon marriage, a
young woman went to live with her husband and his kin, but she re-
mained a member of her father's clan. By the mid-19th century, Ojibwa
clans had few communal functions other than regulating matrimony, but
tribal elders could remember a time when each major clan had a distinct
character and responsibility. William Warren, the son of a white trader and
an Ojibwa woman who chronicled the traditions of his mother's tribe, not-
ed that members of the Bear Clan were said to resemble that animal in
that they were "ill-tempered and fond of fighting." In the old days, he
added, they were quick to challenge other tribes and often led the way in
battle. According to Warren, many members of the Bear Clan, like their
totem animal, boasted a "long, thick, coarse head of the blackest hair,
which seldom becomes thin or white in old age."
At least two Ojibwa clans—the Loon and the Crane—prided them-
selves on providing the tribe with chiefs, and they sometimes quarreled as
to which was foremost in that respect. Warren was present as interpreter
in the early 1840s when leaders of the two clans met with an agent of the
United States government on Madeline Island in '.ake Superior—a site sa-
cred to the Ojibwa. The head of the Loon Clan opened the council by pro-
claiming that his group had always occupied "first place and chieftainship
among the Ojibwas." That assertion was then effectively rebutted by the
head of the Crane Clan, a modest and retiring man, who arose and point-
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES94
ed toward the eastern skies. "The Great Spirit once made a bird," he relat-
ed, "and he sent it from the skies to make its abode on earth. The bird
came, and when it reached halfway down, among the clouds, it sent forth
a loud and far sounding cry, which was heard by all who resided on the
earth, and even by the spirits who make their abode within its bosom."
This heaven-sent crane alighted first by the rapids at Bawating, the
speaker related, and raised a great cry that summoned to that place the
bear, the marten, the moose, and the other totem animals of the Ojibwa
who later congregated there. Then the crane took wing and flew west-
ward over Lake Superior until it approached La Pointe on Madeline Island.
Once again, the bird issued its cry. From the waters below, the loon re-
A prominent Ojibwashaman namedShakopee (far right)
wears traditional
finery that sets himapartfrom the rela-
tives standing out-
side his wigwam in
contemporary dress
in this late 19th-
century photograph.
THE REALM OE THE MANITOUS95
sponded with a call so pure and melodic that it sounded sweeter to the
crane than his own voice. "Henceforth," he told the loon, "you will answer
for me in council." So it was, the speaker concluded, that when the clan
leaders of the Ojibwa assembled, the loon "became first in council, but he
who made him chief was the crane." Few would argue with the speaker's
point, Warren added, for the Loon Clan had a claim to leadership that ex-
tended back only as far as "their first intercourse with the old French dis-
coverers and traders," while the preeminence of the Crane Clan was at-
tested to in ancient tribal lore.
Other tribes of the region assigned specific responsibilities to various
clans, as well. The Winnebago traditionally chose chiefs from the ranks of
the Thunderbird Clan; indeed, the position often passed from father to son,
assuming the son was considered worthy of the honor. Such chiefs were
peacemakers, who resolved disputes within the community and tried to
avoid provoking other tribes. When warfare was unavoidable, the Win-
nebago looked for guidance to a separate clan that was originally dedicat-
ed to the hawk but whose members became known simply as the war-
riors, or "fear-inspiring men." Like others in the region, the Winnebago
believed that authority in peacetime should be distinct from leadership in
wartime, although the peacetime chief might discourage a raid he dis-
agreed with. Any warrior who announced his intention to mount an expe-
dition—usually as a result of a vision directing him to avenge a death or in-
crease his stature—could do so provided his reputation was sufficient to
attract and hold enough followers. This was no small challenge, since
each warrior was free to leave the party at any time. As one 1 8th-century
observer noted, a war chief "has no other means of control over the indi-
viduals than his personal influence gives him."
When it came to policing Winnebago communities, the Bear Clan
took the lead. If an individual tried to hunt where he was not supposed to
or harvest wild rice that was meant for others, the vigilant Bear clansmen
could burn his lodge. If the offender resisted, the enforcers were free to
whip or even kill him, and his relatives had no recourse. The Bear clans-
men, like the members of other Winnebago clans, expressed their solidar-
ity by maintaining certain names for their exclusive use and conducting
annual feasts and ceremonies.
Potentially, strong clan loyalties could divide a tribe into hostile fac-
tions. But lakes tribes guarded against excessive clannishness not only by
requiring that young people marry outside the clan but also by grouping
clans together into larger associations. The Winnebago and Menominee
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES96
had two such groupings, one consisting of clans named for creatures who
lived in the sky and the other of clans named for creatures who lived on
earth or in the water. A youngster from one grouping was required to seek
a mate from the other, which meant that every marriage brought the two
halves of the tribe together. Matters were more complicated among the
Potawatomi, who had as many as 40 clans, grouped into six associations.
But the tribe divided itself neatly into two halves for ceremonial purposes
by classifying children according to the order of their birth in the family,
with the odd-numbered children belonging to the "senior side" and the
even-numbered children to the "junior side." A village might break down
along those lines to play a game of lacrosse, for example. For all the
jostling between the two sides, the game celebrated the ties that bound
the community together.
Although the clans and larger associations played an important part
in the social and ceremonial life of the people, deeper spiritual concerns
were addressed through personal rituals, through seasonal festivities in-
volving the entire community, and through the observances of shamans
and medicine societies. Individuals affirmed their devotion to their
guardian manitou and to other spirits by singing songs, includ-
ing the one derived from the vision quest, other personal
songs inspired by dreams
A Potawatomi pre-
scription stick (bot-
tom) indicates
which herbs ashaman must com-bine to treat specific
illnesses. Shamansadministered herbal
remedies in medi-
cine bowls like the
Winnebago vessel
below, madefrommaple wood.
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS97
After prayingforspiritual aid, anOjibwa shamanknown as a suckingdoctor tries to drawthe source ofillness
from his patient's
chest. Ifa suckingdoctorfailed to re-
move the offending
material, he ap-
pealed to anothermanitou and tried
once more.
or visions, and traditional songs passed down by elders. Not all songs
were sacred: Lovers appealed musically to the opposite sex, while war-
riors directed taunts at the enemy. In one song, Ojibwa warriors pro-
claimed victory over their enemies the Dakota Sioux by singing of "Dako-
ta women weeping as they gather their wounded men." But most songs
were incantations of prayer and thanksgiving, offered to the manitous.
The Ojibwa had a song for each species of animal they hunted, designed
to gain the help of the spirit owner. Throughout the region, people gener-
ally sang to the accompaniment of a rattle or drum. Sacred ceremonies
were often conducted to the beat of a water drum—a hollow log sealed at
one end, filled partially with water, and covered with resonant buckskin.
When singing or praying to a manitou, people sometimes reinforced
their appeal with a gift. Typically, they offered tobacco, of which the mani-
tous were said to be extremely fond. Land or water spirits were offered
pinches of tobacco—tossed on stormy water, for example, to reinforce a
request for calm. When gathering herbs or harvesting rice, people left
some tobacco on the ground as a gesture of thanksgiving. Offerings to the
sky manitous were made in the form of smoke. A traveler in need of good
weather, for instance, lighted a pipe or threw tobacco into the fire and sent
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES98
fragrant smoke to the four
winds. Other prized sub-
stances, such as wild rice or
certain herbs, were offered
to influence the animal
spirits, attract lovers, en-
sure good luck, or counter-
act evil influences. On
special occasions, people
honored the spirits by sac-
rificing one of the dogs that
roamed their camps as
scavengers. The supreme
offering was a white dog,
which the Ojibwa sacrificed
to the sun and the moon at
a rite held each autumn.
Although only the spir-
its and the shamans who
were able to commune
with them could influence
events, many ordinary peo-
ple knew ofways to foresee
the future or discern things
that were hidden. One tech-
nique, scrying, involved
staring into clear water or
some other smooth surface
until a trancelike state ensued, during which revelations occurred as to
the location of game, enemies, or lost objects. Another method used to lo-
cate game involved placing an animal's shoulder blade or some other
bone near a fire so that cracks formed in a pattern that could then be deci-
phered. Simply rolling a handful of stones across smooth ground, it was
thought, offered clues as to the whereabouts of a war party.
When people wanted to give thanks for blessings that came with the
seasons and ensure that those blessings would recur in years to come,
they gathered for one of the communal observances that marked their an-
nual round. Feasts honoring the spirits were held when the maple sap be-
gan to run, when the first berries were ready for picking, and when the
Ojibwas erected this
poleframeworkfora shaking-tent doc-
tor, who communedwith spirits inside
the tent to help peo-
ple who were sick
or troubled. Thelower part ofthestructure was cov-
ered during the cer-
emony to shield the
doctorfrom view.
THE REALM OF THE MAMITOUS99
This effigy with achest cavity contain-
ing a variety ofcharms belonged to
an Ojibwa shaman.Some shamanstreated patients bytransferring their ill-
ness to an effigy,
which was then
symbolically killed.
wild rice had been harvested, among other occasions. Family
groups paid homage to the spirit of the bear at their camps in mid-
winter, and sometime during the year, each individual was expect-
ed to host a feast to his guardian manitou.
One spiritual concern that knew no season was the desire to fend off
sickness and other dire misfortunes. For that purpose, the lakes
people resorted to individuals who were thought to have ac-
quired special power, or medicine, from the spirits. These
shamans were not exclusively concerned with curing
people, but in one way or another, they all worked to
restore balance and well-being to the world. In some
cases, they were called upon to reverse the harm done
by witches or sorcerers, who claimed power from the
spirits as well but used it maliciously. Other disturb-
ances that shamans dealt with were said to be caused
by frustrated hopes and longings within the patient,
or by manitous offended by some deliberate or acci-
dental slight. There were so many possible sources of
illness that only a shaman could divine the cause and
prescribe a cure with any confidence.
Typically, every extended family included at least one
shaman, whose powers were not necessarily of the
highest order but who was readily consulted by his or
her relatives. In some cases, shamans were inspired
at an early age by manitous that others might recoil
from. "When I was a boy of six, I was always dream-
ing about snakes," one Ojibwa shaman recalled. Sub-
sequently, in his defining vision quest, a voice told him to strip
and sit under an oak tree: "Two snakes came near, then more,
and more, and pretty soon they were crawling all over me—you couldn't see my skin. After a while, they left except for two
around the front of my middle, who stayed with their heads
nearly meeting. I heard a voice say, 'You will have this till you
die.' So these are my manitous." For an ordinary person, an en-
counter with snake spirits might be considered ominous, but
this youth was blessed with the ability to put the potent medi-
cine of such manitous to good use. Even youngsters granted the
most inspiring visions, however, remained apprentices until
they were mature enough to exert that awesome power.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES100
One class ofshaman known as the wabeno was adept at herbal reme-
dies in particular. Tribes around the Great Lakes were familiar with the
uses of some 400 plants and herbs in treating illness. Everyone knew how
to prepare herbal teas and potions and use them to relieve aches, pains,
digestive upsets, fainting spells, and respiratory ailments. But wabenos
had access to special remedies that they had learned from elders during
their apprenticeship or from the manitous during dreams and visions.
Wabenos sometimes demonstrated their powers at feasts and dances by
handling burning coals and red-hot stones, having first applied herbal
ointments to their hands. Early French observers referred to them and
their fellow shamans as jongleurs, or "jugglers," and
made light of their ceremonies. But at least one
Frenchman conceded that the
shamans had strong medicine at
their disposal, including an herbal
remedy that proved an effective
antidote to snake venom.
There were other kinds of
healing shamans. One was the
seer, who looked for agents of
ness within the patient and tried to
suck them out through a tube. The
seer, or sucking doctor, treated
maladies that were thought to en-
ter the body in the form of tiny ob-
jects, such as a worm or a sliver of
stone or wood. Removing them re-
quired keen spiritual insight, and
the shaman began the ceremony by
paying tribute to his pa-
tron manitou. "When a
sucking doctor starts
to cure," recalled
Tom Badger, who in
his youth was treat-
ed by such a shaman
for a severe pain in his
side, "he first tells
the people there
THE REALM OF THE M A N I T O U S
101
As demonstrated at left by a Winnebagoscribe, Great Lakes Indians recorded their
history and lore in pictographs on birch-
bark scrolls like the one above, which con-
veys sacred teachings ofthe lakes tribes'
Midewiwin, or Grand Medicine Society.
about the dream he had at the time he was fasting." Having invoked his
guardian manitou, the shaman would then shake his medicine rattle and
set out his implements—two small, hollow bones, which he placed in a
dish of water and proceeded to pick up with his mouth. Tom Badger's doc-
tor had so much power that when he "leaned over the dish, the bones
stood up and moved toward his mouth. He swallowed the bones twice
and coughed them up again."
Then the shaman pressed one of the tubes hard against the patient's
side, broke the skin, and sucked out the offending object along with blood,
which he first emptied into a dish and then cast into the fire. In this in-
stance, the harmful object was too small to be detected amid the blood by
the patient, but others reported seeing worms or fragments of stone in the
matter extracted from them by shamans. This operation was not enough
in itself to cure the patient; in order to keep the malady from recurring, the
seer was required to identify the root cause. In Tom Badger's case, the
shaman pronounced, the underlying problem was a thwarted wish. At a
medicine dance some time before, Tom Badger had been presented with a
hide that his father subsequently gave to someone else. "You promised to
give him another one," the shaman reminded the boy's father. "Sometimes
he thinks about it. That is why he is sick now."
Perhaps the most impressive healing rite practiced by the
Great Lakes Indians was the shaking-tent ceremony, presided
over by a shaman the Ojibwa called a djiskiu, or "shaking-tent
doctor." This powerful medicine man might invoke the aid of the
spirits to cure a single patient or to help an entire community af-
flicted by plague, famine, or some other dire misfortune. When
appealed to, the shaking-tent doctor would first take a sweat
bath to purify himself and then supervise the building of a tent
for the ceremony. This was a small, cylindrical structure framed
by a circle of poles and covered with hides or birch bark. The tent
was open at the top, so that those in attendance could hear but
not see the shaman. Come sunset, the relatives of the sick per-
son or members of the endangered community would gather
around this tent, and the shaking-tent doctor would approach,
singing to let the manitous know that he wanted to see them and that they
should enter the tent at the same time he did.
Canadian anthropologist Diamond Jenness, who spent time among
the Ojibwas on Parry Island in 1929, evoked the drama of the shaking-tent
doctor at work: "At last he approaches, crawls beneath the birch-bark en-
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES102
velope, and disappears within. He is speaking. We cannot distinguish the
words, but we know he is calling the manido [manitou] that blessed him
during his puberty fast, and the other manidos that always lend their aid.
There is a sudden thud, and the lodge rocks violently, for a spirit (mede-
wadji: a spirit of the ceremonial lodge) has entered it. Another thud and
further rocking; then another, and still another. . . . Inside the lodge there
are now five or six medewadji or manidos, souls or spirits of animals like
the bear and the serpent, who have assembled together with the spirit of
thunder, and of snapping turtle, longest lived of all creatures, their inter-
preter. We cannot see them, but we understand that turtle rests at the bot-
tom of the lodge, feet up, keeping it from sinking into the ground; that
thunder is at the top, covering it like a lid; and that the other spirits are
perched around the hoop that encircles the frame."
The people in attendance, Jenness added, could hear the various spir-
its conferring in high-pitched voices as to the cause of the disturbance
and the appropriate cure. Sometimes the manitous blamed a sorcerer and
promised to punish him if he did not take back the harm he had done.
Sometimes, they lent the ailing person the soul of a healthy one, who him-
self became ill for a time but soon recovered. On rare occasions, they con-
cluded that there was no remedy. One Ojibwa remembered attending a
shaking-tent ceremony held for a gravely ill child: "We heard the manidos
say to one another inside the lodge: 'We cannot do anything. The child will
have to die.' " And so it happened.
True shaking-tent doctors were possessed by the spirits they sum-
moned and never sought to contrive effects. Near the end of his life, a for-
mer shaman who had converted to Christianity was asked if the manifes-
tations ofhis shaking-tent ceremonies had been mere tricks. "I cannot live
much longer, and I can do no other than speak the truth," he responded. "I
did not deceive you at that time. I did not move the lodge. It was shaken by
the power of the spirits. Nor did I speak to you with a double tongue, I only
A 19th-century Ottawa drawing shows par-
ticipants in a Midewiwin Great Medicine
Dance holding sacred objects, including
smoking pipes, a bow, a drum, and a medi-
cine pouch, which was presented to society
initiates during the ceremony. The beating ofthe drum summoned manitous to the dance.
THE REALM OF THE M A ri I T O U S
103
Winnebago initiates
carrying decorated
medicine pouchesmade ofbeaverfurleave a Midewiwinlodge after the end
ofa Great MedicineDance in 1896.
repeated to you what the spirits said to me. I heard their voices. The top of
the lodge was filled with them, and before me the sky and the wide lands
lay expanded." So great was the power of the spirits they dealt with that
shaking-tent doctors risked exhaustion if they summoned them too fre-
quently. Many such shamans had knowledge of herbal remedies and dis-
pensed them as often as they were requested, but they seldom performed
a shaking-tent ceremony more than once a month for fear of overburden-
ing their soul and losing their gift.
The deep concern of the people of the lakes for maintaining a proper
ceremonial relationship with the spirits led to the development— first
among the Ojibwa and later among neighboring tribes—of the Grand
Medicine Society, or Midewiwin (a term that translates loosely as "things
done to the sound of the drum"). This society, which still functions today,
has long devoted itself not only to curing rituals but also to other ancestral
traditions relating to the manitous and their powers. It was the Midewiwin
who elaborated the accounts of the Anishinabe and their westward jour-
ney from the great salt sea, guided by the sacred Megis. And Mide story-
tellers such as Tom Badger preserved and passed along many of the rich-
est and fullest accounts of Wenebojo and his feats. But the overriding
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES104
purpose of the society was to perform ceremonies designed to instill in
each new generation of initiates the powers that had been bequeathed to
their predecessors by the spirits.
Perhaps to compete more effectively with the Jesuits and other fervent
missionary groups who sought to convert Indians of the region to Chris-
tianity, the Grand Medicine Society imposed strict order and discipline on
its membership. Initiates were required to act honorably at all times and
renounce the use of alcohol. And each member was assigned a rank with-
in a Mide hierarchy consisting of several orders, or degrees. Acceptance
into even the lowest degree of the society required lengthy instruction, for
which substantial fees had to be paid. One visitor in 1860 noted that an
Ojibwa acquaintance had paid for his Mide instruction in furs that would
have earned him a small fortune from traders. Initiates learned their
lessons by pondering the stories told by society members and by studying
Ceremonially dressed and paintedfor his
journey to the next world and clasping a pipe
tomahawk in his left hand, an Ojibwa chief
named Flat Mouth is laid outfor burial at
Leech Lake, Minnesota, in 1907.
THE REALM OF THE MAPMTOUS105
birch-bark scrolls inscribed with pictographs that concerned the creation
of the world, the migration of the Anishinabe, sacred songs and prayers,
and other religious matters. The scrolls were regarded not simply as aids
for memorizing the traditions of the society but as messages from the
spirits, imbued with their power. As one Mide leader said of the scrolls,
"When the manitou spoke to the Indians, he told them to worship accord-
ing to this parchment."
Candidates were initiated into the society during an elaborate cere-
mony known as the Great Medicine Dance, which was held once or twice
a year in late spring or early fall. This rite, consisting of eight parts and ex-
tending over several days, was also the occasion for promoting existing
members to higher ranks (traditionally, there were eight levels of rank in
the society, the lower four being earth degrees and the higher four, sky de-
grees). The highlight of the Great Medicine Dance was the initiation cere-
mony during which the candidates for admission were symbolically killed
and then brought back to life. Some candidates had recently experienced
a serious illness; others were healthy but had been instructed in a dream
or vision to undergo this symbolic ordeal so that they might be fortified
with protective spirit power.
At a special lodge constructed for the occasion, the candidates' spon-
sors joined in a dance. At the climax of the ritual, sponsors pointed their
medicine bags at the candidates and pretended to shoot them by tossing
cowrie shells at their feet. The candidates pretended they had been
pierced by the cowries and fell to the ground as if dead, whereupon the
shells were removed and the candidates were revived and presented with
their own medicine bags, filled with herbal remedies and sacred objects
that would keep them well. The cowries shot at the candidates represent-
ed the sacred sign, or Megis, that guided the Anishinabe on their west-
ward journey from the great salt sea. Much as that shell lured the Anishi-
nabe away from their old life and introduced them to a new one, the
shooting of the cowries brought to a close one existence for the candidate
and marked the beginning of another. This miraculous moment of death
and renewal was celebrated in an initiation song of the Midewiwin:
The shell goes toward them
And theyfall.
My Mide brother is searched.
In his heart isfound
That which I seek to remove:
A white shell
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES106
There was no ceremony, however powerful, that could forestall the in-
evitable afflictions of old age. Indeed, individuals who lived unusually long
lives were regarded by the people of the lakes with some ambivalence. Onthe one hand, such elders might well have survived because they had
earned the blessing ofbenevolent spirits. On the other hand, they might be
in touch with evil powers.
The Winnebago believed, for example, that witches often killed people
in order to claim the victim's remaining years of life, in which case ad-
vanced age might indicate skill in sorcery. Few people cared to live so long
that they became a burden to their neighbors and kin. Once the body grew
feeble, death was welcome, for then the soul was free to travel outward, as
it did for brief periods when one was dreaming.
The purpose of funeral rites among the lakes Indians was to speed the
In a painting depict-
ing an actualfuner-
al near Kewanna,Indiana, in 1837,
the brother ofa de-
ceased Potawatomigirl leads her pall-
bearers and a cor-
tege ofmourners to
a tribal burial place.
THE REALM OF THE MANITOUS107
In a work by the
same artist, womenbidfarewell to the
departed girl, sprin-
kling handfuls ofsoil onto the coffin.
Funeral rites werevital to ensure a safe
journeyfor the de-
ceased down the
"road ofsouls."
soul on its way to the next world, which lay in the direction of the setting
sun. Family members typically laid out the deceased in the wigwam on a
sheet of birch bark, after combing and braiding the hair, painting the face,
and arraying the body in the finest clothing and surrounding it with treas-
ured possessions and equipment. With family and friends assembled, a
shaman or Mide leader gave the soul of the deceased advice about avoid-
ing evil spirits on its westward journey. The soul might be warned of the
great obstacle that lay ahead—a rushing river, spanned by a quaking log,
or rolling bridge, which was really a dreaded underwater manitou in the
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES108
form of a snake. In order to pass safely over, the soul would have to speak
respectfully to the manitou and make an offering of tobacco.
It was the mourners' duty to provide the soul with food and tobacco
for this journey Menominee warriors called on enemies they had killed in
battle to escort their relative to the afterworld. Speakers made it clear that
they expected the soul to depart immediately, without hanging back to
disturb the living or coax someone else along to the next world. "You will
see your dead relatives," one funeral speech went. "They will inquire about
the people still living. Tell them we are not ready to come." One French vis-
itor among the Ottawa observed that relatives gathered around the lodge
of their dead kinsman in the evening and made dreadful noises to encour-
age the soul to take flight and "go and see their ancestors."
After sending the soul on its way, the family removed the body from
the wigwam through a hole cut in the west wall, opposite the eastward-
facing entrance. The body was never taken out by the entrance, for fear
that the shadow—an elusive element of the personality that lingered after
death as a ghost—might one day return that same way to haunt the inhab-
itants. The relatives then laid the body and its possessions, wrapped in
birch bark, in a shallow grave. They marked the grave with a stake bearing
an inverted symbol of the deceased's clan totem, and perhaps other pic-
tographs recording the person's special qualities and achievements. Rela-
tives placed food near the grave as symbolic nourishment for the journey-
ing soul, and every evening for four nights kindled a fire nearby to warm
the soul when it rested at night.
After four days, it was said, the soul reached the river and paid tribute
to the dreaded manitou that offered the only path to the other side. Once
the soul crossed over, it neared its long-sought goal. As the French explor-
er and interpreter Nicolas Perrot described the afterlife envisioned by the
people of the Great Lakes region, souls on the far side of the river "enter a
delightful country, in which excellent fruits are found in abundance." Just
ahead, he added, the souls can see kindred spirits dancing to the beat of
drums and the rattling of gourds. The nearer the travelers approach, the
louder grows the music, and the greater the excitement of the dancers.
Soon the souls reach the "place where the dance is held, and are cordially
received by all." The dancers offer the newcomers refreshment, inviting
them to feast to their heart's delight. Then at last, the souls are ready to
join in the great celebration: "They go to mingle with the others-to dance
and make merry forever, without being any longer subject to sorrow, anx-
iety, or infirmities, or to any of the vicissitudes of mortal life."O
Crosses rise amid Ojibwa burial houses at a
Christian church on Minnesota's Grand Por-
tage Reservation in 1885. Relatives honored
the deceased by leaving offerings ofberries
or maple sugar outside the burial house.
THE POWEROFTHEMIDEWIWIN
Before the Great
Medicine Danceceremony, blankets
presented to Mide-
wiwin elders by can-
didates/or various
levels ofthe soci-
ety are hungfromthe center pole ofthe medicine lodge.
For the Ojibwa as for other
Native American tribes, con-
tact with Europeans threat-
ened traditional institutions and beliefs. To help
maintain the old ways and ward offthe evil ef-
fects ofchanges brought by the whites, the
Ojibwa relied on the rituals
and practices ofthe ancient
religious society that they
called Midewiwin. As the society's ceremonies evolved
over the centuries, they grew increasingly complex,
combining elements of the Ojibwa creation myth, the
traditional vision quest, herbal medicine for promoting
and ensuring good health, and ritual healing.
Each year, the Great Medicine Dance ofthe Midewi-
win united the community through an elaborate series
ofceremonies. These rituals were conducted by an ex-
clusive hierarchy ofexperienced men and women-distinguished by their knowledge and healing powers.
Using the secret instructions that were recorded as sym-
bols on birch-bark scrolls, the Mide masters initiated
new and existing members into one ofseveral succes-
sive degrees ofsecret wisdom. It was also a time for ail-
ing members of the community to present themselves to
be healed with the help ofthe Midewiwin.
-•«7^ K «
piled with a u <
liitilly
r»( sound when urui * r/>< drum < I
right is dei < • i if/i (wo punthi i
jiardiansoftl > \Ud< nivwri / ',•'• .
In the uncovered medicine lodge, a motherholds her child as Mide cidersfile past Al-
though most p-:: tja'pants in the ceremonywere initiates or members ofthe society,
some were sick or anticipated illness. Per-
forming cures was one way a member could
advance to the next degree m thesocinty.
HHBMHiiH^HI
^^—
Villagers and rela-
tives could observethe Midewiwin cere-
mony through the
medicine lodge's
open sides. At the
final ritual, they
were invited into the
lodgefor a commu-nal healing dance.
Mide elders shaking birch bark rr?;r,.
such as the one shown hen grteted amdidales at the eastern door cjthe lodge.
118
THEARTOFWOMEN'SWORK
In the tradition ofthe Indians ofthe Great
Lakes, the women were responsible not
only for making their family's clothes but
also for decorating them
so that their beauty would
please the myriad spirits
abiding in the natural world. The products ofespe-
cially skilled craftswomen, however, came to have
economic as well as spiritual worth. Fine finished
garments and accessories became valuable barter items,
first in intertribal trade and then in the fur trade. When a
cash economy was later imposed on the Indians, the
women's creations offered a means ofacquiring money.
119
Intricatefloral bead-
work adorns this
Ojibwa tablecloth, adazzling example
ofthe work that
Great Lakes Indian
women—such as the
one shown sewingbelow—have created
for centuries.
Among the most ancient decorative arts practiced
by Indian women of the Great Lakes region were quill-
work, moose-hair embroidery, and weaving. In quill-
work, the quills ofthe porcupine were dyed with pig-
ments made from plants and then appliqued onto
leather garments, bags, and moccasins in ornamental
designs. Huron women excelled at moose-hair embroi-
dery, applying the dyed hair to birch bark, deerskin, or
cloth. The ancient practice ofwrapping the hair around
materials was modernized in the early 1 7th century,
when Ursuline nuns in Quebec taught Indian girls to em-broider using needles.
Weaving involved finger braiding nettle fibers or the
stringy insides of tree bark into sashes and bags. By 1800
Indian weavers were also using wool yarn obtained
through trade with Europeans.
By the turn of the 19th century, Great Lakes womenhad integrated two new imports—glass beads and silk
ribbons—into their art. Beadwork and ribbonwork often
echoed the rich patterns found in traditional quillwork
and weaving. Eventually the artisans began employing
European-style floral imagery in their beadwork and cre-
ating objects—such as the tablecloth above—to appeal to
European and American tastes. A sampler of the extra-
ordinary artistry of the Great Lakes Indian craftswomen
appears on the following pages.
121
QUILLED MENOMINEE KNIFECASE OF BLACKENED BUCKSKIN
S I
OTTAWA BUCKSKIN POUCH WITHQUILLWORK AND GLASS BEADS
WINNEBAGO OTTER-SKIN BAG WITHQUILLWORK AND SILK RIBBON
122
MOOSE-HAIR EMBROIDERY
HURON BUCKSKIN POUCHADORNED WITH MOOSE HAIR
HURON BUCKSKIN MOCCASINEMBROIDERED WITH MOOSE HAIR
123
HURON EYEGLASS CASE OF CLOTHWITH MOOSE-HAIR APPLIQUE
_«----^- - .— 'ill --'"iY miiili'c ' y*iVf V
HURON BURDEN STRAP OF INDIAN HEMP WITH MOOSE HAIR AND GLASS BEADS
HURON KNIFE SHEATH WITHMOOSE-HAIR EMBROIDERY ON PANEL
WINNEBAGO MAN'S WOOL SHIRT WITH GLASSBEADS AND SILKAND VELVET RIBBON
MENOMINEE MAN'S DECORATIVE GARTERWITH BEADED LEAF DESIGN
OJIBWA CLOTH SHOULDERBAG WITH GLASS BEADS
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES131
3
THE CURSEOF THEFURTRADEFaced with an 1837treatyforcing the
Winnebago to leave
their native Wiscon-
sin, Chiefs Black-
hawk (left) and Win-
neshiek resisted,
leading a band offollowers who re-
fused to relocate.
The group remainedin their homeland—asfugitives—for
more than 25 years.
One day in 1634, a canoe bearing seven Indi-
an guides and a single Frenchman scraped
ashore at what is now Green Bay, in the
northwest corner of Lake Michigan. This small party had much
to fear, for the bay and its environs were then home to the
Winnebago, a populous Siouan-speaking people who resisted
any dealings with foreigners and their Indian
trading partners. On one occasion, a French
official later reported, Ottawa emissaries had
approached the Winnebago and tried to persuade them to join the Ottawa
in trading with the pale-skinned strangers from the east, who sought furs
from the people of the lakes and offered in return wondrous implements of
metal as well as glass beads and cloth. Perhaps the Winnebago feared that
the mysterious white men and their wares were evil medicine. In any case,
their response was uncompromising. They seized the Ottawas as ene-
mies, executed them, and ate their flesh in ritual fashion.
The seven Indians who came ashore at Green Bay might have suf-
fered a similar fate had they ventured there alone. But the Frenchman ac-
companying them impressed the Winnebagos. He wore a heavy, shim-
mering cloak embroidered with birds and flowers—only a man in touch
with powerful spirits would be so grandly attired. He brought with him fire
sticks: magical weapons that smoked and thundered. And although he
seemed to come from another world, he conversed fluently in a language
akin to that of the Winnebagos' Algonquian-speaking neighbors.
This gifted speaker was Jean Nicolet, an aide to the celebrated French
officer and explorer Samuel de Champlain, who had helped found the
colony of New France in what is now the province of Quebec. Nicolet had
been sent as a boy to grow up among the Algonquian-speaking Nipissing,
who lived around the lake of that name, northeast of Georgian Bay. As a
part of their colonial endeavors, the French made a point of immersing
themselves in native cultures, and Nicolet had so adapted himself to the
Nipissing lifeways that, as a colleague wrote, "he could have passed for
one of that nation." Now, he was on a vital mission for Champlain. He was
to explore to the west, not only to appease the Winnebago but also to seek
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES132
a route to the fabled resources of the Orient, which some
thought lay just beyond the vast inland lakes. That was why
he brought with him the magnificent embroidered robe. He
meant to impress Oriental potentates, if he succeeded in
reaching their country.
That goal was unattainable, but Nicolet's parley with
the Winnebagos helped open the western lakes region to France and her
British successors in the area. Before he and the Indians accompanying
him returned eastward, Nicolet had enticed the reluctant Winnebagos to
join in a fur trade that would have far-reaching consequences for all the
people of the lakes. For now, the prospects seemed as dazzling to them as
Nicolet's robe. But as time passed, many native peoples who dealt with the
whites would recall old warnings about the intruders. Among the Ojibwa,
it was said, a prophet had foretold that "the white spirits would come in
numbers like sand on the lakeshore, and would sweep the red race from
the hunting grounds, which the Great Spirit had given them as an inher-
itance." For the descendants of the Anishinabe, the prophet insisted, the
coming of the white man would mean the end of their world.
A 1 743 sketch by Hudson's Bay traderJamesIsham meticulously details various beaver-
hunting techniques in an effort to satisfy Eu-
ropean curiosity. A closer look at the coveted
animal (above) appeared in the journal ofFrench officer Baron de Lahontan in 1 703.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE133
AA
The vast lake country extending westward from the villages that
were occupied by the Ottawa and the Huron around Georgian Bay
to the headwaters of the Mississippi River supported a host of fur-
bearing animals prized in Europe for their pelts, including mink and er-
mine, fox, marten, and otter. It was the beaver, however, that preoccupied
fur traders in North America. For the pelt of that industrious rodent proved
to be the ideal material from which to manufacture the felt hats that were
in such demand among Europeans. By the mid- 18th century, hundreds of
thousands of beaver pelts were making their way each year from North
America to factories located in France, England, and other European na-
tions. In the process, the forests of the Northeast were all but depopulated
of beaver, and traders seeking the furs pressed farther westward into the
woodlands around the Great Lakes.
The fur trade, it turned out, would deplete not only the beaver but also
the tribes that provided the pelts. Along with foreign goods, the intruders
brought diseases against which the Indians had no immunity. The result-
ing epidemics were just the first in a series of traumas to beset the people
of the lakes. Many generations of conflict and upheaval lay ahead, as
tribes first vied with one another for an edge in the fur trade and later be-
came swept up in punishing struggles between European powers for con-
trol of the region and its assets.
By the time Jean Nicolet arrived at Green Bay to confer with the Win-
nebagos, epidemics were already taking their toll around the eastern
Great Lakes, where many Indians were in close contact with whites.
Smallpox was the greatest killer, with measles, scarlet fever, diphtheria, ty-
phus, whooping cough, and influenza all claiming their share. The
Huron—who allowed Jesuit missionaries to reside at their villages around
the lower end of Georgian Bay in order to preserve their strong trading re-
lationship with the French—were among the first to be devastated. By
1638 a Huron population that had exceeded 20,000 when Frenchmen first
appeared in the region had been reduced to little more than 12,000. By the
following year, the Ottawa to the north were in the grip of a massive small-
pox epidemic. Soon the devastation swept westward, as French traders
and missionaries advanced across the region, accompanied by Indian
guides from tribes already affected.
Aside from claiming countless lives, the fur trade and the epidemics it
unleashed set the stage for deadly tribal warfare. One early struggle pitted
the Huron against their old enemies, the Iroquois of the Five Nations. Al-
though the Iroquois suffered no less from European-borne diseases than
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES134
did the Huron, they maintained their aggressive posture, thanks in part to
the willingness of their Dutch trading partners along the Hudson River to
ply them with muskets and gunpowder in exchange for beaver pelts. The
French, by contrast, offered firearms only to the Hurons they trusted and
spurned the others—the traditionalists who opposed the black-robed
Jesuits and their countrymen. The divided Hurons fell prey to Iroquois at-
tacks in the late 1640s that destroyed several
fortified villages and panicked surrounding
communities. Some Christian Hurons went
east with the French and settled near Quebec
others sought refuge with neighboring tribes, in-
cluding the Iroquoian-speaking Petun; still others
were rounded up by the Iroquois and carried home
as captives to the Five Nations, where most were
adopted to help replenish the Iroquois population.
After dispersing the Huron, Iroquois war parties
set out against other tribes, bent on seizing captives
and furs. By 1651 the Iroquois had overrun southwest-
ern Ontario, dislodging the Ottawa and scattering the
Petun along with the Hurons they were harboring. Those
Hurons who were not killed or captured fled farther
west and became known to the people of the lakes by
their ancestral name of Wendat (the British later re
ferred to them as the Wyandot). Over the next few
years, Iroquois warriors continued their destructive
raids, sweeping across southern Michigan and
northern Indiana and ousting the Potawatomi and
the Miami. The attackers had no interest in occupying
territory and regularly returned to their home vil-
lages, laden with prisoners, pelts, and other booty.
The mere approach of a large, well-armed Iroquois
war party however, was frequently enough to dis-
perse tribes that as yet possessed few firearms and
had been sorely afflicted by disease.
From all points of conflict, the refugees streamed
north and west, many by canoe, others struggling
overland through the forests, with hunger their
constant companion. Refugee centers sprang up
at places removed from the main thrust of the
In an 18th-century French drawing, a
stylized Iroquois warrior wields an ax
and traditional war club like the onepictured above. Beautifully crafted
into the shape ofan animal head, this
formidable weapon ofwood and iron
could split a skull in a single blow.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE135
^ti^^fi^MMi^CJ^^m «!
Warriors arrive by boat and setfire to enemylonghouses in a 1575 French engraving de-
picting intertribal warfare along the Saint
Lawrence River. Such traditional rivalries
were intensified once the European fur trade
grew to dominate Indian relations.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES136
Iroquois raids, such as the Indian town of Bawating, or Sault Sainte Marie, Indians portaging and paddling canoes are
where Nipissings and others from around the northern end of Lake Huron PF°lnChmap™ofthe saintIXre" ce'vaiiey
joined the ranks of the resident branch of Ojibwas known as Saulteurs; and Great Lukes region. Also depicted is the
region's abundance ofwildlife, including
and Chequamegon Bay, at the western end of Lake Superior, where some bear, deer, and the aii-imponant beaver.
Ottawas and Petuns found shelter near Ojibwa settlements such as La
Pointe. But no sanctuary attracted a larger and more varied assortment of
refugees than Green Bay, where Winnebagos had greeted Jean Nicolet and
his party in 1634. By 1650 the original population of that site had dwin-
dled. After inaugurating trade with the French, the Winnebago had been
devastated by disease and further depleted when 500 of their warriors
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE137
perished in a sudden storm after setting out in canoes
to raid members of the Fox tribe who had recently set-
tled in the area. The weakened Winnebago could do lit-
tle to resist the flood of refugees to the area—perhaps
10,000 Indians from more than a half-dozen tribes, in-
cluding Potawatomis, Miamis, and Mascoutens, a
branch of the Ojibwa.
Soon the far-ranging Iroquois appeared at Green
Bay, too, evidently in the hope of tapping new fur
sources west of Lake Michigan. But they were far from
home and short of provisions. In 1655 a large Iroquois
war party approached the Potawatomi encampment of
Mitchigami along Green Bay and requested provisions
from the very people they were about to assault. It was
a cynical appeal to the native tradition of hospitality,
and the Potawatomis responded in kind by offering
them food that had been laced with poison. The Iro-
quois discovered the trick in time, but they lacked the
strength to retaliate. Instead, they split into two groups
and retreated. Both parties were later set upon and
slaughtered, one as it headed south into lands held by
the Illinois, the other when it ran afoul of Saulteur war-
riors at the rapids near their home.
Several years later, in 1662, those same deter-
mined Saulteurs, joined by various allies, ambushed an
Iroquois war party on a point of land jutting out into
Whitefish Bay, west of Sault Sainte Marie. The attack-
ers struck at dawn, armed not only with bows and
clubs but also with muskets. Overwhelming the op-
posing camp, the Saulteurs and their cohorts wiped out the Nadoway, or
Big Serpents, as the people of the lakes referred to the Iroquois, likening
them to creatures long associated with death and destruction.
Such resistance helped induce the Iroquois to strike a temporary truce
with the French and their Indian allies in 1667. The Iroquois attacks had
never succeeded in choking off the French fur trade, and it now accelerat-
ed rapidly, with Ottawa and Potawatomi hunters and trappers visiting
Montreal regularly. The peace also saw the beginnings of a movement by
displaced peoples who were seeking to reclaim their ancestral homelands
east of Lake Michigan, or at least to establish themselves in places that
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES138
were favorable to their old lifeways. In 1671 Ottawas and Petuns left
Chequamegon Bay and moved east to the Straits of Mackinac, between
Lakes Michigan and Huron; they settled at present-day Saint Ignace, then
known as Michilimackinac. By the late 1680s, Potawatomis and Miamis
were leaving their Green Bay sanctuaries and traveling down along the
western and southern shores of Lake Michigan to raise new villages in or
near their ancestral territories.
Some native groups settled near Jesuit missions located at trading
centers. The sight of the first black-robed Jesuits who accompanied fur
traders on their visits and stepped ashore with the cross held high above
their heads so impressed Ojibwas that they came to refer to the French
collectively as Wemitigoji, or Wavers of Wooden Sticks. Nonetheless, the
Black Robes encountered resistance. Indians of the region tended to
blame their maladies on the work of witches, and they had reason to won-
der if the priests were not somehow responsible for the ills plaguing their
villages. After all, the priests were reclusive beings who had no wives or
families, did not give feasts, and sometimes defied respected elders and
medicine men. In time, missionaries overcame some of this hostility and
claimed more than a few converts. But critics of their efforts such as the
French officer Baron de Lahontan contended that the only Indians willing
to submit were those "on the point of death." Overall, the early missionar-
ies made little headway with the people of the lakes.
In the 1680s, the Iroquois resumed their westward raids, encouraged
by their recent covenant with the English, who had supplanted the Dutch
along the Hudson River and emerged as formidable colonial rivals to the
French. In the developing conflict, however, the English left the Iroquois
largely to their own devices. By contrast, French troops sometimes fought
alongside the embattled tribes of the lakes.
Although the Big Serpents no longer struck terror in the hearts of the
Ojibwa and their northern neighbors, Iroquois war parties succeeded in
intimidating other tribes to the south. In 1680 they swept down with such
ferocity on the Illinois who were living below Lake Michigan that manybands of that tribe fled westward across the Mississippi River. One group
of Illinois known as the Tamaroas made a brave stand—only to be crushed
in a battle that left 700 of them captured or killed. In years to come, how-
ever, the tide turned against the Iroquois. By the late 1680s, Indians with
French support were mounting retaliatory raids deep into Iroquois territo-
ry. The conflict had come full circle.
Despite such military success, the people of the lakes were not always
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE139
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etn6r*jj«rU ./,&* w ,'/'' f* Fattr ***** *&&r et
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'
The signatures ofIndian chieftains,
recorded in theformoftotem signs, certi-
fy a treaty written in
French in 1 701. Thepact ended the so-
called Iroquois
wars, a prolongedconflict that pitted
the Iroquois and the
English against the
French and their
Indian allies.
.,.,.,,-' „.,,., ^^"-r^,"•
six?***,1
"'
ef. H_£/-,-> J
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES140
content with their French allies.
Fearful of English competition, the
French began fortifying their trad-
ing posts around the Great Lakes
and asserting dominion over the
region. Their Indian allies humored
them by referring to the French
king diplomatically as their "father,"
but to the Indians that term did not
imply subservience. In their culture,
after all, fathers did not dominate
their children—in many ways, it
was the father who was obligated
and the child who was privileged.
Consequently, the Indians felt free
to criticize their French patrons
and reconsider the relationship.
In 1689, when the Iroquois ral-
lied and attacked French settle-
ments along the Saint Lawrence
River, Ottawas began to wonder
aloud if it would be best to appease
the Iroquois and their English allies.
In response, the French colonial
governor sent troops to reassure
the waverers and issued a procla-
mation likening the nations of the
Iroquois to "five muskrat lodges in
a marsh which the French propose to drain and burn." That commitment
on the part of the governor evidently satisfied one prominent Ottawa
chief, who advised his people: "Vomit forth thy hateful feelings and all thy
plots. Return to thy Father, who stretches out his arms and who is, more-
over, not unable to protect thee."
In years to come, French and Indian assaults left many Iroquois lodges
in flames. At last, in 1701, the Iroquois made peace with the French and
their partners in the western lakes region. Even in the tranquil period that
ensued, however, the fur trade remained a grueling and uncertain busi-
ness. Traders taking the main route west from Montreal and Quebec left
the Saint Lawrence beyond Montreal, traveled up the Ottawa River,
Men use a towline to "track" a canoe up the
rapids, as voyageurs haul their cargo upriv-
er. The grueling work ofpaddling, portag-
ing, and tracking canoes required a special
breed ofmen. "They are short, thickset,
and active, and never tire," said U.S. Indian
agent Thomas McKenney in 1826.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE141
portaged to Lake Nipissing, and followed the French River to
Georgian Bay and Lake Huron. Others continued up the
Saint Lawrence and on through Lakes Ontario and Erie be-
fore heading up past Fort Pontchartrain, at the budding vil-
lage of Detroit, and proceeding to Lake Huron.
Both routes were arduous. In 1684, while the Iroquois
wars were still raging, Baron de Lahontan described the
struggle of his military party to mount the rapids just above
Montreal. His men "were forced to stand in the water up to
their middles in order to drag the canoes against the stream,"
he related. Soon after, they reached a falls and had to carry
their canoes and provisions for a half-mile, then portage
again for a quarter-mile at another falls some distance far-
ther along. After paddling across a lake, they portaged for a
mile and a half around yet another stretch of white water. At
every stroke and step of the way, they were assaulted by
mosquitoes and black flies. In desperation, the men tried to
smoke the pests away, noted Lahontan, but "the remedy was
worse than the disease." He and his men might have been
better off smearing themselves with bear grease, as some In-
dians of the region did to keep bugs from biting. French
traders who traveled regularly among native peoples adopt-
ed many such customs of the country.
No matter how long or difficult their journey, the French
made certain to indulge the Indians' love of ceremony. When
a chief who was displaying a French flag approached a forti-
fied trading post, booming cannon rendered the salute. Ap-
propriate medals, flags, and other marks of honor were be-
stowed, and earnest speeches of everlasting peace, amity, and security
delivered. Highlighting the welcoming ceremonies were the presents-
guns and ammunition, tobacco, kegs of the rum Indians had come to
cherish, metal tools, blankets, clothing, and beads.
One French trader among the Ojibwa at Chequamegon gave groups of
goods separately to men, women, and children and charmed the recipi-
ents by attaching a symbolic value to each item To the men he presented
a kettle, two hatchets, six knives, and a sword blade-the kettle to signify
feasting and friendship, the hatchets to strengthen young men against
their enemies, and the knives and sword blade to show that France was
both mighty and dependable, able to shield its friends and annihilate its
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES142
foes. In return for such gifts, the trader could expect ample rewards in the
form of pelts, but the ritual of exchange was designed to afford each side
the honor of appearing trustworthy and magnanimous. Sometimes the
Frenchmen dealt with native intermediaries they called trading captains,
who represented kinship groups or clans. Most of what the trading cap-
tains received they then distributed to those who depended on them,
which enabled the captain to enhance his reputation for fairness and gen-
erosity. Traders who understood and accommodated tribal values in such
ways found the Indians more than willing to ply them with the beaver
skins for which the white men had such a hankering.
Obtaining those skins was no difficult task for a people who were fa-
miliar with every bend in the stream. The beaver were conspicuous,
gnawing down saplings and small trees to construct large lodges and
dams in ponds and waterways throughout the area. Hunting took place in
winter, when beaver pelts were at their thickest. In addition to shooting
and trapping the animals, the Indians broke into the lodges and drove out
the beaver. Frequently, the creatures hid in underground passageways
leading from their lodges and had to be extracted by hand, which some-
times cost the hunter wounds inflicted by the beaver's sizable teeth.
Stretched and dried, the pelts were made up into packs of 40 or 50 skins
each to await the spring trading season.
French authorities attempted to regulate the fur trade by selling li-
censes. Some who purchased them were traders who made the journeys
themselves, but others were merchants, who hired men known as
voyageurs to carry out the expeditions. Officially reported Baron de La-
hontan in 1685, only 25 licenses were issued each year at a cost of 600
crowns apiece, but hundreds of unofficial traders skirted the law and dealt
with the Indians without a license. They did so upon 'pain of death," noted
Lahontan, for they were cheating the Crown of revenue, but the stricture
was exceedingly difficult to enforce.
Those traders who purchased licenses were entitled to fill two canoes,
which held trade goods worth about 1,000 crowns—and would fetch 160
packs of beaver skins worth about 8,000 crowns (the traders, Lahontan
explained, knew how to "bite the savages most dexterously"). From this
sum, the merchant would deduct the cost of his license and goods and pay
his voyageurs, who usually ventured out three to a canoe. They received
"little more than 600 crowns apiece," Lahontan added, and it was fairly
earned, "for their fatigue is inconceivable." Consequently, merchants
came away with a tidy profit of 2,500 crowns or so.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE143
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INDIAN VILLAGES
TRADE ROUTES
Indian, European, and metisfur traders trav-
eled these major routes during the 18th
century, transporting pelts and the trade
goods whites offeredfor them between Indi-
an villages and European trading posts.
Voyageurs seldom lingered long between expeditions to the Great
Lakes. Those who had wives in Montreal or Quebec might return home for
a while, Lahontan observed, but the bachelors were as careless with their
earnings as most sailors of the day: "They lavish, eat, drink, and play all
away as long as the goods hold out." When their pay was exhausted, many
of them fell to selling the fancy clothes they had just purchased: "This
done, they are forced to go upon a new voyage for subsistence." Their
journeys often lasted a year or more, and they became familiar presences
among the people of the lakes. The Indians grew to admire the tough, un-
ruly, largely uneducated men of the woods. As Ojibwa chronicler William
Warren later put it, native peoples saw much of themselves in these
voyageurs, with their "continual effervescence of animal spirits, open-
heartedness, and joviality." The admiration was mutual, and voyageurs
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES144
took to tribal ways so freely that Indian agent Nicolas Perrot remarked that
they had made themselves "like unto the Indians." Many of them took In-
dian wives, thereby cementing the bonds and fostering a class of mixed-
blood metis, who would play a large role in the fur trade and in subsequent
French Canadian history.
Such a man was Joseph La France, born about 1707 at Michilimack-
inac. The son of a French trader and an Ojibwa mother, La France entered
the world at a time of crisis for the beaver trade. Fearful of British inroads,
the French had kept trading aggressively, until by the late 1690s, the ware-
houses were filled to overflowing. At that point, the government suddenly
abandoned its trading system. Licenses were revoked, and the western
trading posts were shut down. The hiatus ended in 1715, after Paris felt
makers working through the stocks discovered that much of the hoard
had been so poorly stored it was worthless. Soon, the posts at Michili-
mackinac and other important centers were reopened; prices climbed,
and the fur trade rebounded. In the meantime, however, tribes had suf-
fered a loss of trade goods upon which they increasingly depended, and
many voyageurs had been denied a livelihood—unless, of course, they
found ways to trade with the British at Albany or at Fort Oswego on the
eastern shore of Lake Ontario.
Joseph La France's father survived the crisis and even managed to
take his boy to Quebec for instruction in French. Returning home, young
Joseph learned the rudiments of trade before his father died when he was
14, and at 16, he entered business on his own without a license. For the
next decade, he hunted and traded among his mother's people on the
northeast shore of Lake Superior. But when the commandant at Michili-
mackinac granted another trader a license there, La France was forced to
seek opportunity elsewhere.
In the spring of 1736, he enlisted the help of eight Iroquois—who were
skilled in traveling undetected through the region—and took two canoes
loaded with pelts down Lake Huron to the Saint Clair River. That route
took him past the French fort of Pontchartrain, which was there not only
to keep the British from reaching the upper Great Lakes but also to keep
opportunistic traders such as La France from reaching the British. His par-
ty took care to slip past the fort under cover of darkness and continued
along Lake Erie to Niagara Falls, where they avoided another French
stronghold at the mouth of the Niagara River. Portaging around the falls,
they at last reached Fort Oswego, where the Iroquois handled the trading
arrangements with the British while La France hid in the woods.
Voyageurs set up camp on the shore ofa
lake at the end ofa day oftrading ivj'rh Indi-
an hunters. The voyageurs, acting as mid-
dlemen, boughtfursfrom the Indians andsold them to export companies.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES146
The trip proved profitable enough, but the dangers and difficulties
helped persuade La France to abandon his illegal ways and seek a French
license. Traveling to Montreal the next year, he offered the governor gen-
eral payment of 1,000 crowns and a pack of marten skins as a gift. The
governor general accepted both the money and the pelts, but denied La
France a license—and for good measure, charged him with illegally selling
brandy to the Indians. La France avoided detention by hastily returning
home, only to cross paths the following year with the governor general's
brother-in-law as he was traveling down the French River on a supply
mission to Michilimackinac. He arrested La France as a fugitive and seized
all his goods but failed to keep a close watch on the cagey metis, who es-
caped in the night with musket and ammunition. La France spent six
weeks working his way through the rugged country north ofGeorgian Bay
until he met with Ojibwas from the Mississauga village, who helped him
reach Sault Sainte Marie.
It was not only metis such as La France who had problems with
An 18th-century engraving captures the
meeting oftwo cultures as Europeans re-
ceive in trade a pelt prizedfor use in hats
and clothing. Equally precious to Indians
were the goods obtained in exchange, exam-ples ofwhich appear on thefollowing pages.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE
COPPER TEAKETTLE
French officials. In the early 18th century, the French had come up with a
plan to deal with tribal bands that had remained around Green Bay and
were disrupting French trade with the rival Dakota Sioux to their west. The
French invited the Green Bay groups—including the Fox— to resettle near
Fort Pontchartrain. The plan went awry when those Fox who agreed to re-
settle began to feud with Indians who were already residing at the fort and
their French protectors. The dispute escalated until the Fox at Fort
Pontchartrain were attacked and crushed by the French and their Indian
allies. Some members of the Fox tribe escaped and stirred up further
resistance to French traders among their relatives who had remained be-
hind at Green Bay. The French responded with a series of attacks that fi-
nally subdued the tribe. Many of the Fox were killed or captured, while
those who remained free ultimately sought protection among the Sauk.
As this bitter episode made clear, the French were finding it increas-
ingly difficult to reconcile the conflicting demands of their various native
trading partners. The Ojibwas living around the western end of Lake Su-
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES148
LARGE BRASS KETTLE PATCHED WITHMETAL SCRAPS AND HOMEMADE RIVETS
perior, for their part, bristled at French efforts to trade directly with their funtlock musket with serpent sideplate
traditional foes, the Dakota Sioux. In recent times, the Ojibwa had kept the
peace and served as middlemen between Dakota hunters and French
traders. But as the French disposed of Fox opposition and extended their
reach westward to the Mississippi River and beyond, they no longer need-
ed the Ojibwa as intermediaries in order to obtain pelts from the Dakota,
whose territory abounded with beaver. The Ojibwa responded by pushing
into Dakota hunting grounds to regain their advantage in the trade. In-
evitably, such intrusions spurred retaliation, and the old adversaries went
at each other with a vengeance.
This new phase of the Dakota-Ojibwa conflict began in the 1730s and
continued thereafter for many decades, seesawing back and forth in
countless deadly ambushes and raids. William Warren, drawing on ac-
counts handed down by Ojibwa warriors, told of one such contest that
took place in the 1 760s at the confluence of the Crow Wing and Mississip-
pi Rivers, just west of Mille Lacs. Having allied themselves with the Assini-
boin and the Cree to the northwest-both of them longtime foes of the
Sioux-the Ojibwa had slowly gained the upper hand and forced the Dako-
ta to evacuate their villages at Mille Lacs and retreat south to the Rum Riv-
er. "Smarting under the loss of their ancient village sites, and their best
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE149
hunting grounds and rice lakes," related Warren,
"the Sioux determined to make one more united and na-
tional effort to stem the advance of their troublesome and perse-
vering enemies, and drive them back to the shores of Lake Superior."
A war party ofmore than 400 Dakotas proceeded up the Mississippi to
its headwaters, planning to assault the Ojibwa village at Sandy Lake.
Along the way, they killed and scalped a number of Ojibwa hunters and
took captive 30 young women gathering berries near Sandy Lake. The vil-
lage itself appeared to be easy pickings. Sixty of the best Ojibwa warriors
had just departed on a raid of their own, and as the attackers approached
the settlement, they could hear from the shouts and general din that the
place was in panic. Many of the remaining warriors were drunk on firewa-
ter obtained from traders, and the women were frantically trying to sober
them up by ducking their heads in cold water.
The Dakotas attacked forthwith. It was a close fight, but the womenmanaged to brace enough of their menfolk to withstand the assault. At
length, the Dakotas retreated with their handful of scalps and the 30 cap-
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES150
tive women. The warriors, recounted Warren, "were doomed, howev
er, to run a severe gantlet before reaching their villages."
To the south, the Ojibwa raiding party, having found no ene-
mies, was returning home when it came upon a campsite recent-
ly abandoned by Dakotas. From the tracks, the warriors
guessed where their enemies had been heading— to assault
their families at Sandy Lake. With cold fury, they laid an
ambush just below the confluence of the Crow Wing and
the Mississippi Rivers. Here stood a high bluff against
which the powerful river current would draw the ene
my canoes. The Ojibwa warriors dug ditches in the
earthen bluff for concealment—and waited.
In due course, continued Warren, an Ojibwa
scout "saw the whole bosom of the river covered
with war canoes." The Sioux disembarked in view of the con
cealed Ojibwas and roughly forced the captive women—among them relatives of the anxious warriors—to cook
their morning meal. After eating, they set out once
more in a compact mass, accompanied by much
chanting. At last the moment had come for the
waiting Ojibwas: "At the sound of their leader's war whistle,
they suddenly let fly a flight of bullets and barbed arrows into
the serried ranks of their enemies, picking out for death the
most prominent and full plumed figures amongst them."
All was chaos among the Sioux. At the first volley, the cap-
tive women overturned the canoes in which they were riding
and struck out for shore. Other canoes capsized from the con-
vulsions of wounded men. Many Sioux drowned, and others
were picked off as they swam for safety. The survivors struggled
ashore and collected themselves below the ambush site. They
sensed that comparatively few Ojibwas were involved and,
burning for revenge, they counterattacked. The fighting lasted
until nightfall, with the entrenched Ojibwas suffering no losses
and the Sioux taking further punishment. The Sioux tried to over-
come their attackers again the following morning, and by that
time, Ojibwa ammunition was running low. The opponents
fought hand to hand with stones and knives and war
clubs. Yet in the end, the Ojibwas emerged vic-
torious. The badly mauled Sioux "returned to
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE151
their villages," concluded Warren, "and for fear that the Ojibwas
would retaliate, by making a similar incursion, evacuated the RumRiver country and moved to the Minnesota River."
The fur trade not only gave impetus to such tribal wars
but also embroiled the native peoples of the region in the
epic conflict between France and Britain that simmered for
decades and came to a boil in the 1750s. By then, the British
colonists in the New World far outnumbered the French, who
had never succeeded in luring great numbers of settlers from the
motherland to brave the fierce winters and forbidding back coun-
try. To the south, by contrast, there were so many English speakers
iving along the Atlantic seaboard that streams of land-hungry pio-
neers were spilling over the Allegheny Mountains into western
New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio. Anxious to protect their fur
empire, the French armed the tribes of the upper Great Lakes and
sent warriors under French officers to terrorize British frontier
settlements, all the while claiming that they had no control
over their "savages." The Indians went at their task with a will.
Some of them had quarreled with the French at times, but
they were bound to them by trading ties, reinforced in many
cases by family connections—and they too were eager to
stem the westward flow of British colonists.
The skirmishing erupted into outright warfare along the
frontier in 1 754. Known to the British as the French and
Indian War, the conflict in North America was linked to
the wider Seven Years' War that began in Europe in
756 and dragged on until 1763. Great Lakes Indians
from such places as Sault Sainte Marie, Michili-
mackinac, Green Bay, and Detroit fought along-
side the French in battle after battle against the
British—who profited by some Indian support of
their own from groups such as the Mohawk,
the easternmost nation of the Iroquois.
For a time, the French and their Indian al-
lies prevailed in the conflict. In 1755 a
French contingent of about 300 soldiers
and a mixed Indian force of nearly 1,000
warriors overwhelmed 1,500 British
troops on their way to retake Fort
ThisfearsomeOjibwa war club
was crafted ofmaterials obtained in
trade: a woodengunstock wedded to
a spike ofiron. Theweapon bears artis-
tically incisedfig-
ures, which often
denoted a warrior's
guardian spirit.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES152
Located at the juncture ofLakes Superior,
Huron, and Michigan, Mackinac Island be-
came the hub ofthe Great Lakesfur trade. In
the sketch, the Britishfortress overlooks aharbor where ships He ready to exchangegoodsfor beaver pelts and otherfurs.
Two Ottawa chiefsfrom Michilimackinacdisplay their bartered assets—silver orna-ments and trade-cloth garments—in a water-color by a British artist in the early 1800s.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE153
Duquesne at present-day Pittsburgh, fatally wounding their commander,
General Edward Braddock, and inflicting nearly 1,000 casualties on his
dazed followers. Credit for the stunning victory belonged in large part to
warriors from the lakes region, led by a mixed-blood Ottawa named
Charles Langlade from Michilimackinac.
In 1756 a joint force including nearly 1,000 Indians—among them
Ojibwas, Ottawas, and Potawatomis-captured Fort Oswego on Lake On-
tario. In 1 757 Charles Langlade again took the lead in a successful attack,
capturing Fort William Henry on Lake Champlain. But the campaign
turned against the French and their Indian allies at Fort Duquesne in the
fall of 1758. At first, they defended the place skillfully against a British ad-
vance guard. But then the warriors returned to their villages to prepare for
the winter months, and the remaining French were unable to hold off the
main British force. By 1760 both Quebec and Montreal had fallen to the
British—despite the best efforts of warriors from the lakes region—and
British troops pushed on to Detroit.
Canada soon belonged to Great Britain. But the people of the lakes-
many of whom now spoke French in addition to their native tongues—re-
tained that element of their heritage. (Even today, many Indians of the re-
gion go by French surnames and hail one another with a brisk boo-zhoo:
"bonjour.") Nor did the warriors who battled the British feel in the least de-
feated. Indians returned home brimming with good spirits in canoes
loaded with booty. The king of France, they would say, had simply gone to
sleep and would "shortly awaken to return to his children." One Ojibwa
chief told a British trader: "Englishman, although you have conquered the
French, you have not conquered us. We are not your slaves!"
It angered prominent Indians such as the Ottawa chief Pontiac to hear
from a British Indian agent that they would "enjoy free trade and posses-
sion of the country as long as they adhered to His Majesty's wishes." The ill
will was compounded by the British military governor, Lord Jeffrey
Amherst, who disdained Indians as a race and had once suggested to a
subordinate that blankets infected with smallpox be spread among the
native allies of the French. Amherst tried to discourage traders from giving
presents to influential Indians—a practice that he denounced as mere
"bribery" but the Indians considered common courtesy.
Furthermore, the British restricted the flow of weapons to the region,
which made it harder for hunters to provide for their families. The British
had no such scruples, however, when it came to trading liquor, a com-
modity that the French too had dealt in but that was now offered so wide-
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES154
ly to Indians that it became known as "English milk." One Lake Superior
trader described a drunken "frolic" that lasted four days and sparked fight-
ing that left three Indians dead and six wounded. This trader, like others,
found that he could still sell the Indians plenty of rum, but quiet "their im-
pertinence" by lacing it with opium.
All of this might have been bearable had it not been clear to Pontiac
and other discerning chieftains that the British intended to occupy and
settle their land. Unlike the French, they would not be content with a few
forts and trading posts around the lakes. They would have to be driven
out. The planning for Pontiac's War, as it became known, went on for an
entire year. When the allied Indians struck in the spring of 1 763, the British
were caught almost entirely by surprise. Between May 8 and June 22, well-
coordinated parties of Ottawas, Ojibwas, and warriors from other tribes
attacked every British fort west of the Alleghenies. There were 1 1 in all, in-
cluding some acquired from the French. By late summer, only the bastions
at Detroit and Pittsburgh remained in British hands—and both of those
were under siege. The other nine had been taken by the Indians, who had
slaughtered most of their garrisons.
The attackers had relied on subterfuge to penetrate the fortifications.
The June 4 attack on Fort Michilimackinac was a classic of its kind. Ap-
proximately 90 British regulars commanded by a major defended the fort.
To deal with them, the renowned Ojibwa war chief Matchekewis mus-
tered several hundred Ojibwas and visiting Sauks. By no coincidence, June
4 was the birthday of the British king George III, and Matchekewis in-
formed the commandant that his young men would honor the occasion
with a match of lacrosse—a game that was played between two goals but
knew no bounds, since the contestants would chase after the ball with
their sticks wherever it went. No obstacle was allowed to stand in the way
of getting at the ball, explained William Warren: "Were it to fall into the
chimney of a house, a jump through the window or a smash of the door
would be considered of no moment."
At the appointed hour, the vying teams of Ojibwas and Sauks ap-
peared, decked out ceremonially in feathers, ribbons, and fox and wolf
tails, and hurled themselves after the ball, yelling and whacking at each
other with abandon. The fort's commandant stood outside the open gate
looking on with rapt attention, while his unarmed soldiers lounged about
the fort and mingled with the Indian women sitting nearby. Suddenly, out
of the melee, the ball sailed high into the air-and landed inside the fort.
"With one deafening yell and impulse," related Warren, "the players rushed
General Edward Braddockfalls mortally
wounded as warriors ofthe lakes region
fend offBritish troops on July 9, 1 755, near
present-day Pittsburgh. Charles Langlade,
an officer ofFrench and Ottawa extraction,
is pictured at left leading the attack.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES156
forward in a body as if to regain the ball." But as they passed their women,
they threw down the lacrosse sticks and snatched up the shortened guns,
knives, tomahawks, and war clubs the women had concealed in their
robes. On raced the warriors, sweeping through the open gate.
An English trader named Alexander Henry was in a room at the fort
writing letters when he heard the war cries and ran to a window. "I saw a
crowd of Indians within the fort, furiously cutting down and scalping
every Englishman they found," recounted Henry. "1 saw several of mycountrymen fall, and more than one struggling between the knees of an
Indian, who, holding him in this manner, scalped him while yet living." The
bloodbath was over quickly. Perhaps 70 of the 90 soldiers were slain, and
the rest, including the hapless major, were taken captive. Most of the civil-
ians in and around the fort were French Canadians, and not one suffered
harm; by Henry's account, they looked on with equanimity. Only a few
British traders were present; one was slain and the others taken prisoner.
Henry himself was marked for death, but survived through the interces-
sion of an Ojibwa named Wawatam, whom he had earlier befriended.
Wawatam had declared the two ofthem to be "brothers," and he now took
Henry under his protection.
From the security of Wawatam's lodge, Henry witnessed what might
have been his own fate when the bodies ofseven white men were dragged
out onto the parade ground the next morning. The corpse of one victim
was then dismembered, and pieces dumped into five kettles, to be boiled
into a sort of broth. Invited to participate, Wawatam returned with a bowl
in which rested a hand and a piece of flesh. Henry noted that Wawatam
"did not appear to relish the repast," but it was still a solemn custom
among his people "to make a war feast from among the slain. This, he said,
inspired the warrior with courage in attack, and bred him to meet death
with fearlessness." Henry spent the next winter hunting in the woods of
Michigan with Wawatam and his relatives as their adopted kinsman be-
fore he left them and returned to his life as a trader.
Pontiac's War so disturbed the British that they convened a great
peace council at Niagara the next summer. The Indians were suspicious at
first. The Ojibwas at Sault Sainte Marie consulted an esteemed medicine
man, who performed a shaking-tent ceremony and summoned the spirit
of the Great Turtle. That manitou assured Ojibwas that if they attended the
council, the British would fill their canoes with presents: "blankets, kettles,
guns, gunpowder and shot, and large barrels of rum, such as the stoutest
of the Indians will not be able to lift; and every man will return in safety to
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE157
Ottawa chiefPonti-
ac and RobertRogers, a British
major, share apeace pipe in 1 760,
threeyears before
Pontiac staged his
famous rebellion.
Ottawas and their
allies captured nine
British Great Lakesforts and laid siege
to the remainingtwo, Fort Pitt andFort Detroit (right).
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES158
his family." And so it happened. The British not only plied the Indians with
gifts but also acknowledged their claims to lands situated beyond the
crest of the Alleghenies, including the lakes region. Whites could venture
there only to trade, the British decreed. The boundary line was shifted in
1 768 by the Treaty of Fort Stanwix, which set the Ohio River as the frontier
between Indians and whites, with the land north and west of that river re-
served for the original inhabitants.
The agreement proved acceptable to Indians of the lakes region. For
tribes whose homelands lay safely beyond the frontier, the treaty and the
gifts that accompanied it were signs that the British could be trusted. In-
deed, trade blossomed between the Indians and the British after the
stormy interlude of Pontiac's War. Among those prominently involved was
the former captive Alexander Henry, who in 1 765 obtained a license grant-
ing him exclusive rights to the trade around Lake Superior from the British
commandant at Fort Michilimackinac. For a partner, Henry took a French
Canadian metis named Cadotte, who had married an Ojibwa woman and
was greatly respected by the Indians. Their trading technique was to ad-
vance goods to Indians around the lake for beaver pelts that would be pro-
vided after the winter's hunting. A blanket was worth between eight and
10 skins, for example, and a gun, 20 skins. In one season, the partners ad-
vanced goods worth 3,000 beaver skins and wound up with 100 families
hunting for them. Thanks to such energetic trading and new hunting tech-
niques—including the use of steel traps—more than 50,000 beaver pelts
passed through Michilimackinac in 1767 alone.
Such harvests could not long continue without depleting the beaver
population in the area. In the meantime, however, the Indians of the Great
Lakes faced a more pressing challenge—conflict with that vast group of
English speakers who were coming to identify themselves not as British
subjects but as Americans. Antagonized in part by the British agreement
to bar settlement northwest of the Ohio River, the colonists rose up
against the king in 1 776 and fought for their independence. The victory of
the American colonists in 1 783 had devastating repercussions for the re-
gion's tribes. In the years that followed, the Americans used questionable
land deals and military force to claim much of Ohio. Alarmed by the ad-
vances of the whites they called Chemokmon, or Big Knives, for the sabers
American militiamen wielded, the people of the lakes looked for support
to the British, who still held forts in the region and supplied the Indians
with arms. When the British and Americans again came to blows during
the War of 1812, the tribes around the lakes sided largely with the British.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE159
Indeed, warriors there began battling Americans long before the United
States declared war on Great Britain.
Native opposition to the Americans was organized by the Shawnee
chief Tecumseh and his brother, known as the Prophet, whose tribe had
lost most of its ancestral territory in Ohio to the Americans and who per-
suaded tribes to the north and west that they would soon suffer the same
fate if they did not oppose the Big Knives. Among those who joined in the
fight were Ojibwas, Ottawas, Potawatomis, Winnebagos, Menominees,
Sauks, and Foxes. Early on, warriors battling the Big Knives succeeded in
overwhelming several outposts acquired by Americans after the Revolu-
tion, including the forts at Detroit, Mackinac (the former Michilimackinac),
and Chicago, where some 600 Potawatomis massacred scores of soldiers
and a small number of civilians after they abandoned Fort Dearborn.
These assaults only provoked the Americans, who launched devastating
expeditions against Indian villages in Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois. In
1814 the embattled Indians found themselves without white allies when
the British—whose forces in the lakes region had been pushed back into
Canada and defeated—came to terms with the United States. The tribes
still at war with the Big Knives had little choice but to conclude treaties
with the United States that were often punitive in nature.
T hings would never be the same for the people of the lakes. Linger-
ing American hostility toward the tribes of the region ensured that
federal authorities would pressure them remorselessly to yield ter-
ritory. With the end of the war, settlers surged across the Ohio, many of
them farmers attracted by the rich soil at the southern end of the lakes.
Where the prospects for farming were dim, mining outfits moved in to ex-
tract copper, iron, and lead. By 1820 steamboats were navigating the
Great Lakes, which made it easier to get the ore out—and bring the people
in. By 1825 the Erie Canal had been completed, swinging wide the gates
for emigrants from the east. By 1830 there were 1,700,000 whites in the re-
gion, compared with a scant 72,000 Indians.
Many tribal bands in the region had already been threatened or ca-
joled into surrendering a great deal of their land. In 1819, for example, the
territorial governor of Michigan, Lewis Cass, traveled to Saginaw to talk
Ojibwa leaders into ceding land. For persuasive effect, Cass brought along
a company of U.S. Army troops and a shipment of "presents" that included
nearly 200 gallons of liquor. When the assembled Ojibwas refused to
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES160
come to terms, traders and interpreters at the council offered individual
chiefs inducements of goods, guns, and alcohol to bring them around.
When all was said and done, the Ojibwas had signed away roughly six mil-
lion acres of land in Michigan in exchange for tribal reserves covering lit-
tle more than 100,000 acres.
Federal negotiators made such land deals more attractive to the Indi-
ans by offering them cash annuities. These yearly disbursements of mon-
ey were sorely needed, for overhunting left the Ojibwa and their neighbors
with a dwindling supply of pelts to offer in exchange for the trade goods
they had come to rely on. Few of the Indians still made their own tools and
clothing. Although they continued to hunt, fish, and gather wild rice, they
often needed provisions from traders to get by in lean seasons. For some
Indians, however, the annuities seemed poor compensation for what had
been taken from them. One Ojibwa chief named Yellow Beaver, who had
refused to sign the Saginaw Treaty, appeared there every year to claim his
annuity—only to toss the coins he received disdainfully into the river.
In 1837 Potawatomileaders meet a Unit-
ed States govern-
ment delegation to
conduct negotia-
tions that ultimately
resulted in the
tribe's removalfromits Michigan and In-
diana homeland to
reservations west ofthe Mississippi Riv-
er. The chiefKee-
waunay is depicted
standing at left.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE161
Some tribes in the region were divested of their homelands altogether
as part of a federal effort to remove native peoples to the supposedly emp-
ty plains west of the Mississippi (a policy that ignored the claims of the
many tribes already living there). Among those subjected to removal were
the Winnebago, who had rebounded from their setbacks of earlier times
and spread out across much of southern Wisconsin. In the 1820s, howev-
er, Winnebago territory was overrun by miners prospecting for lead. The
miners waged a campaign of harassment so troublesome to the Winneba-
go that in 1827 they delegated a warrior named Red Bird to exact revenge.
With some reluctance, Red Bird and two cohorts attacked a white home-
stead near Prairie du Chien, killing several people, after which Red Bird
surrendered to forestall a vigilante-style reprisal. The United States gov-
ernment used the incident to impose a treaty in 1829 that stripped the
tribe of half of its territory south of the Wisconsin River. Mixed-bloods and
Indian wives of white men were allowed to remain in the ceded area, but
all other Winnebagos had to depart. Another treaty three years later fur-
ther reduced the tribe's domain.
The government acknowledged that the tribe's remaining land in Wis-
consin could not support all those who were displaced and subsequently
granted the Winnebago a reservation on the Turkey River in Iowa. But that
place was a no man's land, hotly contested between bands of Dakota
Sioux and the Sauk, who had been forced there from Illinois despite Fierce
resistance from their war chief Black Hawk. The newcomers soon found
themselves embroiled in hostilities. Alarmed by the experience, the Win-
nebago refused a fresh demand by the government that those still in Wis-
consin cede their remaining territory and move west. Under pressure,
however, they did agree to send a delegation to Washington in 1837. Trib-
al leaders purposely limited the power of the delegation by appointing
men of little or no authority; among those absent were leaders of the Bear
Clan, which policed the tribe. Nonetheless, officials in Washington pres-
sured the delegates into making a major commitment for the tribe by
holding them as virtual prisoners until they signed away the remaining
land. Upon returning home, the Winnebagos discovered that they had
been not only coerced but deceived. They had been told that they would
have eight years to vacate the land; the treaty they signed in fact allowed
for only eight months. An interpreter later confessed that he had been or-
dered to mislead the delegates.
This fraud permanently split the Winnebago peoples. The majority of
them accepted removal but pressed for a viable reservation of their own.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES162
In 1855 they at last received one—at Blue Earth in southern Minnesota.
There they took up farming with a will, donned what was called "citizen's
dress," curbed the use ofliquor, and built a jail to confine wrongdoers. Men
from the community even enlisted to fight for the Union in the Civil War.
But none of that prevented them from losing their reservation when an
uprising by the Dakota Sioux in Minnesota prompted authorities to re-
move not only the Dakotas but also the peaceful Winnebagos, who were
sent to a desolate tract on Crow Creek in South Dakota. By the end of the
first brutal winter there, 552 of the 1,934 Winnebagos taken from Blue
Earth had died of cold, starvation, or disease. The survivors, almost to a
person, ignored the threats of their guards and escaped south in dugout
canoes to find shelter among Omahas who were living along the Missouri
River in Nebraska. There, in 1865, they signed a final treaty giving up the
hated Crow Creek to start life anew on land carved from the northern edge
of the Omaha reservation.
The other faction of perhaps 1,000 or so Winnebagos refused to leave
Wisconsin after the treaty of 1837 and camped in the woods of central
Wisconsin as fugitives. From time to time, government agents rounded up
as many as they could find and transported them to the current Winneba-
go reservation, but most of them found their way back to Wisconsin with-
in a year or two. Finally, in 1881, they were allowed to apply for 40-acre
homesteads there. The land they acquired was among the poorest in the
state and was capable of supporting only small gardens, which they sup-
plemented through traditional subsistence activities. But no longer did au-
thorities seek to displace them.
Members of other tribes in the region resisted removal to the west as
well. When Potawatomis living in southern Michigan and northern Indi-
ana were relocated to a reservation in Kansas in 1841, some members of
the tribe who had adapted to European ways stayed behind and formed
small communities much like those of the white settlers pouring into the
area. Others chose to migrate to the Canadian province of Ontario, where
members of various tribal groups intermingled on Walpole Island, east of
Detroit, as well as in more remote areas. Both Ottawas and Ojibwas, for
example, found refuge in large numbers on Manitoulin Island—or Spirit Is-
land—and intermarried to such an extent that the native population there
today is best described simply as Anishinabe. So strong was the attach-
ment to tradition that many western reservation dwellers returned to the
lakes region eventually and found homes on and off reservations.
Some groups, such as the Menominee of northern Wisconsin and the
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE163
>gv^g^-*rr^agjaaWinnebago chief
Winneshiek (center)
and hisfollowers
are shown during
their confinement at
Fort Snelling in Min-
nesota in 1863. Thechiefwas arrested
for his continued re-
sistance to his
tribe's removal to a
reservation.
Ojibwas living around Lake Superior, never left their homelands, but they
found it difficult to retain the territory set aside for them by treaty. By the
mid- 1800s, federal interest in removing the Indians to the west was wan-
ing, in part because the Plains were proving more attractive to white set-
tlers than the tracts of forest and marsh reserved for the people of the
lakes. Yet the ruggedness of the land did not keep outsiders from maneu-
vering to take what they could. Time and again, federal authorities satis-
fied mining outfits or timber companies by pressing tribal leaders to cede
more territory in exchange for annuities that did little to ease the poverty
of reservation dwellers.
Although treaties typically entitled Indians to hunt and fish on the
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES164
land they ceded, native peoples who did so often met with hostility. Whites
in Minnesota objected menacingly in 1864 when some Ojibwas left their
reservations to hunt deer. The "game belonged to white folks," insisted the
St. Paul Daily Press, which advised all Indian "whelps" to remain behind
reservation boundaries or "else some of them may accidentally be taken
for deer by our hunters." It was no idle threat, for whites who killed Indians
were seldom punished—and sometimes rewarded. The year before, Min-
nesota authorities had responded to an abortive uprising by a handful of
starving Ojibwas by placing a bounty on Indian scalps. Proclaimed the St.
Paul Pioneer Press: "Good News For Indian Hunters—The Indian-hunting
trade is likely to prove a profitable investment to our hunters and scouts in
the Big Woods, the Commander-in-Chief having increased the bounty for
each top-knot of a 'bloody heathen' to $200."
Missionaries on the reservations tried to show Indians that whites
The treaty-abiding
Winnebagos, shownhere in a council
with Omaha Indi-
ans, were pushedwest in a series ofland cessions, final-
ly sharing a Nebras-
ka reservation with
the Omaha in 1865.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE165
A grim-looking Win-
nebago delegation
to Washington in
1912 displays old
treaties, testifying to
the history of tra-
vails the tribe en-
dured at the hands
ofthe United States
government.
could be trusted and had much to offer them spiritually and culturally. Yet
like the Jesuits of the French era, these mission workers found it difficult to
win over people who were so deeply attached to the beliefs of their ances-
tors. In 1869 President Ulysses S. Grant placed the nation's reservations
under the control of missionary boards, and many Indians went along
with the new regime by accepting baptism or sending their children to
missionary schools. But among the people of the lakes, the obeisance was
often superficial. The children in mission schools recited their lessons du-
tifully, but many cut class whenever they could. Christian ministers re-
mained outsiders, and church attendance proved disappointing; in private
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES166
and in times of crisis, the Indians turned to their ancestral practices. Some
tribal leaders remarked that if God had meant the Indians to have the
white man's religion, he would have given them the Bible in their own lan-
guage. Indeed, members of the Midewiwin, or Grand Medicine Society—
who opposed the efforts to convert Indians—insisted that the Great Spirit
had already spoken to the Anishinabe through the sacred scrolls.
Attachment to native traditions surfaced in a different form in the late
19th century when a movement known as the Dream Dance spread
among the people of the lakes. Originating among the Dakota Sioux about
1877, the movement's central legend explained how a young girl had es-
caped the slaughter of her band by army soldiers by hiding in the shallows
of a lake for many days. Then, just as she was about to collapse from
hunger, a force lifted her from the water and a voice spoke to her: "Be not
afraid," it said, 'you have been chosen to receive a message from heaven."
The voice promised that the Great Spirit would protect all Indians from the
white man, and it instructed her in a new "dream dance," involving a dis-
tinctive blue, red, and yellow drum and other regalia that would put her
people in touch with the Supreme Being. For a while, the movement
served as a rallying force for some Indians of the Great Lakes. Dancers
called for the revival of ancient traditions and preached a spirit of friend-
ship among the tribes. The
enthusiasm eventually di-
minished, as Indians lost
hope that any force could
defend them against the
ever-multiplying whites.
Yet many native peoples of
the region remained con-
vinced that spirit power
came to them through sa-
cred dances and other tra-
ditional observances.
As the 19th century drew
to a close, one defiant band
of Ojibwas briefly found it-
self at war with the United
States. The fighting oc-
curred on October 5, 1898,
A many-sided Ojib-
wa lodge photo-graphed in 1910served as a gather-
ing placefor partici-
pants in the DreamDance, the religious
movement that
promised a newdawn offreedomforthe Indians.
168
With women driving the wagons, Kickapoo migrants struggle across a rough tableland near the Texas border about 1 904. They soon joined
other tribe members who had settled on land provided by the Mexican government near the town o/Nacimiento in the mid- 1 9th century.
Uz
169
ONE TRIBE'SDISTANTEXILEA Kickapoo village
in northern Mexicoconsists of tradition-al domed houses,
cooking sheds, andsummer arbors,
known as ramadas.
No Great Lakes tribe movedfarther from its original
homeland to escape wars and white
encroachment than the Kickapoo, a
people related to the Sauk and Fox. liv-
ing in the woodlands ofwhat is nowwestern Wisconsin when French ex-
plorers first arrived, the Kickapoo soon
retreated to the Wabash Valley of Indi-
ana and Illinois before moving west-
ward into Missouri. From there most of
the tribe trekked southwest into the
plains of Oklahoma, Texas, and even
Mexico—where several hundred
remain to this day.
Despite their long exiles in
alien lands, the Kickapoo have
retained a remarkable number of
their ancient religious festivals,
ways of dress, and other customs.
Many still hunt for much of their
food and live in rounded dwellings
made of poles covered with rush
mats, just as their ancestors
did in their Great Lakes vil-
lages centuries ago.
In a photograph taken about 1927, 15-year-
old Standard Wilde, a Kickapoo living in
Mexico, is shown wearing a dazzlingly or-
nate dance costume that he made himself.
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES170
at Leech Lake, a small reservation in north-central Minnesota. The inci-
dent attracted relatively little notice at a time when newspapers were
heralding the victorious conclusion of the Spanish-American War. This re-
mote skirmish offered white Americans nothing to boast about, either in
its origins or in its outcome.
About 1,100 Ojibwas inhabited the Leech Lake Reservation, making
their livelihood by hunting, fishing, harvesting wild rice, and selling fallen
timber from their forests. They were basically peaceful, but increasingly
aggrieved. The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers had outraged the Indians in
the 1880s by flooding 40,000 acres of prime wild rice swamps. Moreover,
since Minnesota law officers received a fee for each arrest, deputy mar-
shals made a regular practice of picking up Ojib
wa men, usually on charges of selling liquor il-
legally or as witnesses to that traffic; as often
as not, the arresting officer had helped supply
the offending liquor.
One prominent target for such harass
ment was Bugonegijig, a 62-year-old
chief known to whites as Old Bug.
The authorities detained him
more than once as a witness or
suspect in the liquor traffic and
made plans to arrest him again
when he arrived at the Leech Lake
Agency on September 15 to col-
lect his annuity distribution. Adeputy marshal slapped him be-
hind bars, but some 50 Ojibwas
snatched him away and escorted
him home to Sugar Point, on the
northeast shore of Leech Lake.
Bent on recapturing the fugitive,
the United States marshal in Saint
Paul called for reinforcements. In
due course, a contingent of 100
U.S. Army infantrymen and a
handful of Indian police, com-
manded by a brevet major and ac-
companied by a brigadier general,
Ojibwa chiefBugo-negijig (left) poseswith members ofhistribe in 1897, a year
before he became in-
volved in a struggle
against oppressive
government authority
at Leech Lake Reser-
vation in Minnesota.
THE CURSE OF THE FUR TRADE171
arrived by train at the town of Walker on the southwest shore of the lake.
On the snowy morning of October 5, the force chugged up the lake in
two small steamers and a barge. When the soldiers stormed ashore at
Sugar Point, they found only a few Indians there. The troops, mostly raw
recruits, marched about for a while without encountering resistance, then
relaxed. They were in the process of stacking arms for the noon lunch
break when one of the rifles accidentally discharged. "There was a mo-
ment of ominous silence," recalled a soldier. Then the troops discovered
that they were not alone. From the enveloping woods, the soldier related,
"Indians poured a most terrific volley into our ranks. We found ourselves
almost entirely surrounded by the enemy."
Frantically, the troops scrambled for their rifles and took cover, even-
tually forming a rough skirmish line. But the Indians kept lashing them
with fire and pinned them down. From time to time, a concealed Ojibwa
would let out a war cry, "chilling the very marrow in our bones," recalled
one wounded private. Meanwhile, the steamers, having come under fire,
stood off Sugar Point and then returned to Walker. The troops were on
their own, to either fight it out or be driven into the lake. But the Ojibwas
were content to hold the army at bay After three and a half hours, the fir-
ing eased and the soldiers made camp for the night. The next day, the fol-
lowing telegram from Minnesota reached authorities in Washington:
"Commenced fighting at 1 1 :30 yesterday. Indians seem to have best posi-
tion. Not moving. Maj. Wilkinson, five soldiers and two Indian police killed;
awaiting reinforcements."
By the time the telegram arrived, another 214 troops had already been
dispatched to the trouble spot with a Gatling gun. Ultimately, the number
of troops at Leech Lake swelled to 1,000. The area was cordoned off, but
there was no further fighting. Wisely, the commissioner of Indian affairs,
William A. Jones, traveled to Leech Lake and invited the Ojibwas to come
in for a parley. They were agreeable and accepted a canoeload of presents,
including pork, flour, sugar, and tobacco.
No one was sure how many Indians had participated in the combat-
perhaps only 20 or so, armed with a motley array of rifles and shotguns.
Privately, they took a certain pride in what they had accomplished. In the
end, a dozen of the chiefs followers received sentences of from 60 days to
10 months-which were later commuted by presidential pardon. As for the
chief himself, he never was arrested, but continued to live free. He made
himself a bright necklace of spent U.S. Army cartridge shells and delighted
his people by telling them how he had invoked his powers as a medicine
PEOPLE OF THE LAKES172
man and changed himself into a bird when the fighting broke out. As be-
fitted a leader of advanced age, he had watched over his warriors from a
lofty perch, relishing their victory.
As this incident underscored, the Ojibwa remained proud and inde-
pendent. The relative isolation of their reservations helped them with-
stand the intrusions of white civilization better than most tribes. Many of
them continued to pursue a seasonal round that included visits to hunting
camps in the winter, sugarbushes in the spring, and wild rice fields in late
summer. They preserved their language, much of their religion, and their
knowledge of herbal medicines. By the 1920s, however, the virgin forests
were disappearing under the saw. The timber business declined, and the
Ojibwa lost income that had helped to make up for the moribund fur trade.
Many of them descended into the same bitter poverty as that experienced
by members of other tribes.
The people of the lakes, who had little to spend in the best of times,
suffered dearly during the depression of the 1930s. At the Ojibwa's Fond
du Lac Reservation in Minnesota, average family income fell to $310, most
of it from menial, part-time jobs. Government schools did little to improve
the prospects of native children; the Indian police corps withered for want
of candidates willing to accept such a thankless task.
For many native peoples of the region, the only solution was to move
off the reservations and seek work elsewhere. During World War II, thou-
sands of Indians left tribal communities to work in factories and shipyards
in urban areas or to serve in the armed forces. In the 1950s, the govern-
ment prompted further relocation by encouraging Indians to leave reser-
vations and migrate to Chicago, Detroit, Minneapolis, and other major
cities. By the mid-1970s, almost 12,000 of Minnesota's 22,322 Native
Americans were city dwellers.
Some agencies and educators endeavored to keep the traditions alive.
In the 1970s, the Indian Education Act gave reservation parents a say in
how federal funds are spent in local schools. In recent years, some reser-
vations have established their own community colleges, and the Ojibwas
at Lac Court Oreilles in Wisconsin have maintained their own radio sta-
tion. Profits from legal gambling operations have helped some tribal coun-
cils build schools, housing, and community centers. And native groups
have asserted their treaty rights to fish, hunt, and harvest on their tradi-
tional grounds located off the reservation.
Among the enduring customs of the people of the lakes is the wild
rice harvest. Indians around the region have long sold some of the rice
THE CURSE OF THE EUR TRADE173
Their lands reduced and their traditions
challenged, Ojibwa men on a reservation in
Minnesota meet in council in 1900. Lament-ing the impact ofgovernment policies on the
Indians' way oflife, a 19th-century Ojibwaleader commented, "The warm wave ofthe
white man rolls upon us and melts us away."
they picked to help support their families. But in recent decades, wild rice
has become big business, and some tribal groups have begun to compete
for their share of a growing market by cultivating the crop in paddies—
a
practice that worries traditionalists, who fear that the manomin, or "spirit
seed," will lose its ritual significance.
Today, Indians of the lakes region still venture out in canoes onto
lakes and marshes to beat the grains from the stalks with sticks. City
dwellers make a point of rejoining old friends and relatives for the festive
occasion, which for many families still involves offering rice to the spirits
in a first-fruit ceremony. "We have a deep feeling of satisfaction and grati-
tude as we sack up the rice again toward evening," remarked Ojibwa Nor-
ma Smith of the Mole Lake Reservation in northern Wisconsin. "We do not
feel the ache in our arms as we anticipate the gain. If the rice is light, we
will sell it for seed. If it is heavy, we will take it home to cure for eating. And
tomorrow we will be back for another day of picking." hCi-
THE MAPLESANNUAL ESSf\ ¥fv« powerful Wenebojo, the trid
I W |^ tion unacceptable. To ensur
VjL11 1 the earth's bounty for grante
vm n WjfW UO # Long a§0 when the earth
Y I *A l*r I |^ ^^ was new, according to
1/ VI. mJmJl\*J Ojibwa legend, maple
y w trees produced a sap that was as thick and
I L\ I sweet as syrup, and anyone who tapped
// mJiJ the trees reaped an easy reward. But all-
powerful Wenebojo, the trickster spirit, found this situa-
tion unacceptable. To ensure that humans did not take
the earth's bounty for granted, he caused the sap ofthe
maple trees to become thin and watery. Since that time,
the Ojibwa people have had to work hard to obtain the
maple sugar that nourishes them throughout the year.
For centuries the Indians ofthe Great Lakes have
gathered at their family maple stand, often called the
sugarbush, to celebrate the end of the long, hard winter
season and to collect and render the sap of the sugar
maple, which abounds in the forests of the region. The
annual sugaring ritual takes place in the short interval as
winter fades and spring begins. During that time, the
warm days and freezing nights cause the sap stored in
the roots of the trees to run beneath the bark, where it
V^Ull L/\^ lUpUVU. kJLL IV_V-- JUll VVUJ 11UI UVUUUUlt LKJ LI l^ KSllU
wa, it was sugar that seasoned and preserved their food.
Sugar cakes provided sustenance during the dangerous
lean periods when there was little else to eat. And whenthe Ojibwa wished to thank their guiding spirits, the
manitous, for their help, they frequently offered their
most precious commodity—sugar.Relatively few Indian families still work the sugar-
bushes ofthe woodlands around the lakes, and those
that do tend to produce maple syrup for sale only. Here
and on the pages that follow is a look at a more tradi-
tional sugar camp, run by Nick and Charlotte Hockings,
an Ojibwa couple from Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin. TheHockingses, with the help of their family and friends, pro-
duce not only syrup but also the cakes and granulated
sugar that were made by their ancestors. They use nothermometers, hydrometers, or regulators common in
modern operations to produce this sweet harvest—rely-
ing instead on their own muscle and the knowledge andobservations passed down through untold generations.
Nick Hockings sawsfirewood amid the
paraphernalia ofhis sugar camp onthe Lac du Flam-beau Ojibwa reser-
vation. Only dead-
wood is culled as
fuelfor the con-
stantfires needed to
process the sap.
m
Hockings lifts an of-
fering oftobacco to
a grandfathermaplein thefamily sugar-
bush. Tobacco is
traditionally offered
as thanks to the
spiritsfor the boun-ty that will be taken
from the land.
Years ofexperience give Hockings afeelforwhich trees are likely to produce good sap
and how to tap them. Once a tree is selected,
a hole is bored into the trunk to the appro-
priate depth and angle (left) to accept a small
spout that is then gentlyyetfirmly ham-mered into the tree (above). Care must be
taken not to split the wood or bend the spout.
TAPPING THE TREES
After setting the tap. Hoc kings hangs a buck-etfrom the spout (above) to receive the sap.
Drop by drop, the bucketsfill with the slightly
sweet "tree water" (right). During a good saprun, each bucket mightfill up twice a day.
The sugar makerpushes a barrel on a sled
through a late-season snowfall as he goesabout the chore ofcollecting sapfrom the
tree buckets. The buckets must be vigilantly
checked and emptied lest they overflow andthe preciousfluid be wasted on the ground.Sap that is not immediately processed canbe storedfor a short time and boiled later.
Between sap runs, Hockings can usually befound stocking the woodpile. During sugar-
ing season, huge amounts ofdeadwoodmust be cleared, gathered, cut, and split to
feed thefires under the kettles. It is said that
it takes the equivalent ofa log the size ofaman to cook one gallon ofmaple syrup.
BOILINGTHE SAP
i>'--".
IWmBRN&H
BMs'wB
Fres/i sap ispoured into a large iron troughin preparationfor thefirst boil in the sugar-
ing process (left). Maple sap contains only
two to three percent sugar, so a steadyfireis maintained underneath the trough in or-
der to concentrate the liquid. When the sapis tasted and deemed sufficiently cooked,it is drawn offinto buckets (below) and tak-
en to the next cooking stage.
Pure maple syrup(right) is the product
ofthe second boil.
The Ojibwa did nottraditionally keep
syrup on handthroughout the
year, preferring the
portability ofthedry sugarproductsobtained throughfurther cooking.
After thefirst boil,
the thickened liquid
is poured into acauldronforfurthercooking. The steam-ing kettle has to bewatched closely to
ensure that the
syrup does not burnor boil over.
FROM SYRUP TO SUGAR
Hockings chops out a rough-hewed hook to
hold the cookingpot over thefire during the
final boil down to sugar (left and above).
Many useful objects such as hooks, spoons,and bark conesfor holding sugar cakes arecrafted while the liquid slowly cooks.
The sugar makercasts a practiced eye
on a nearlyfinished
batch ofsugar (left)
and pours a sampleonto a handful ofsnowfor quick cool-
ing (above). Split-
second timing is re-
quired to get the
mixture just right
for making the sug-
ar cakes. Overcook-ing causes the solu-
tion to granulate.
186
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors wish to thank the following individuals
and institutions for their valuable assistance in the
preparation ofthis volume:
In Canada:
Quebec-Chris Kirby, Canadian Museum of Civi-
lization, Hull; David Gidmark, Maniwaki.
in Denmark:
Copenhagen-Berete Due, National Museum
In Germany:
Berlin—Peter Bolz, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin,
Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Museum fur Volker-
kunde Stuttgart— Ursula Didoni, Linden-Museum
In the United States:
Indiana: South Bend—Greg Ballew, Henry Bush.
Iowa: Cedar Falls-Jack Minehart, Big Fork CanoeTrails.
Michigan: Dowagiac—Rae Daugherty.
Minnesota: Bemidji-Earl Nyholm, Bemidji State
University. Minneapolis-Layne Kennedy. St. Paul-
Tracy Baker, Sherri Gebert Fuller, Minnesota Histor-
ical Society.
South Carolina: Aiken -Julie McCrum, Wooden Ca-noe Heritage Association.
Virginia Newport News— R. Thomas Crew, Jr., TheMariners' Museum.Wisconsin: Bayfield-Marvin DeFoe, Red CliffBand
of Lake Superior Chippewas Lac du Flambeau-Charlotte Hockings, Nick Hockings, Wa Swa Gon-ing Traditional Ojibwa Village, Lac du FlambeauIndian Reservation. Milwaukee-Susan Otto, Mil-
waukee Public Museum.
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America's Fascinating Indian Heritage. Pleasantville,
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Barnouw, Victor, Wisconsin Chippewa Myths & Tales
and Their Relation to Chippewa Life Madison: Uni-
versity of Wisconsin Press, 1977.
Benton-Banai, Edward, The Mishomis Book: The
Voice of the Ojibway. St. Paul: Indian Country
Press, 1979.
Berkhofer, Robert F, Jr., Salvation and the Savage: AnAnalysis ofProtestant Missions and American Indi-
an Response, 1787-1862. Lexington: University of
Kentucky Press, 1965.
Blair, Emma Helen, ed., and transl., The Indian Tribes
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Great Lakes. Vol. 1. New York: Kraus Reprint, 1969
(reprint of 191 1 edition).
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PICTURE CREDITS
The sources for the illustrations that appear in tins
book are listed below. Credits from left to right are
separated by semicolons;from top to bottom they are
separated by dashes.
Cover: National Anthropological Archives (NAA),
Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 5281 1. 6, 7: Mapby Maryland CartoGraphics, Inc ; S P. Brunet/Pub-
liphoto, Inc.—copyright British Museum, London(2) 8: © P. Brunet/Publiphoto, Inc.—copyright
British Museum, London. 9: Copyright British Mu-seum, London-© Carr Clifton, Taylorsville, Calif.
10, 11:© Carr Clifton, Taylorsville, Calif; copyright
Bntish Museum, London-S Jim Schwabel/
Panoramic Images, Inc. 12, 13: Craig Black-
lock/Blacklock Nature Photography, Moose Lake,
Minn., © Carr Clifton, Taylorsville, Calif-copyright
British Museum, London 14, 15: § Will Goddard,
Frozen Images, Inc —copyright British Museum,London 16, 17: Milwaukee Public Museum—Min-nesota Historical Society 18, 19: Courtesy Nation-
al Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian
Institution, catalog no. 10/6938 20: City of Mon-treal Archives, no C51 -42500 21: Map by Mary-
land CartoGraphics, Inc 23: Jean-Loup Charmet,
Pans 24, 25: Library of Congress, LC-D4-13076-Bibliotheque Nationale de France, Paris 26: Na-
tional Museum of American Art, Washington,
DC/Art Resource, N.Y.-Staatliche Museen zu
Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Museum fur
Volkerkunde, foto Dietrich Graf 27: Tippecanoe
County Historical Association, Lafayette, Ind., gift of
Mrs. Cabel G. Ball—© Jerry Jacka, courtesy Colter
Bay Indian Arts Museum, Grand Teton National
Park, Wyo. 28: National Museum of American Art,
Washington, DC/Art Resource, N.Y.-© The Detroit
Institute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase 29:
National Museum of American Art, Washington,
D.C./Art Resource, N.Y.—Milwaukee Public Muse-um 30: National Museum of American Art, Wash-ington, D.C./Art Resource, NY-courtesy Wallace
B. McClellan, Jr 31: Joslyn Art Museum, Omaha,Neb., gift of the Enron Art Foundation—© The De-
troit Institute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase.
32: Peabody Museum, Harvard University, photo by
Hillel Burger—Linden-Museum Stuttgart, photo by
Ursula Didoni 33: t The Detroit Institute of Arts,
Founders Society Purchase; National Museum of
American Art, Washington, DC. /Art Resource, N.Y.
34: Library of Congress, USZ262-I01332 36, 37:
Minnesota Historical Society—NAA, Smithsonian
Institution, neg. no. 476-A-49. 38, 39: Royal On-tario Museum, Ethnology Department, neg no.
912.1.10. 40, 41: © Carr Clifton, Taylorsville, Calif;
Library of Congress. 42, 43: NAA, Smithsonian In-
stitution, neg. no. 596-D-2—© The Detroit Institute
of Arts, Founders Society Purchase. 44, 45: NAA,Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-A—Minneso-ta Historical Society—NAA, Smithsonian Institu-
tion, neg. no 54829-A; NAA, Smithsonian Institu-
tion, neg. no. 720-C. 46: NAA, Smithsonian Institu-
tion, neg. no. 94-71 12. 48, 49: Collection of Glen-
bow Museum, Calgary, Alberta. 50: Minnesota His-
torical Society 51: NAA, Smithsonian Institution,
neg. no. 4403. 52-63: Background by Charlotte
Hockings, Lac du Flambeau, Wis. 52, 53: Frances
Densmore, Minnesota Historical Society, courtesy
James J. Hill Reference Library, St. Paul, Minn 54,
55: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. nos. 596-
E-30-596-E-10; 476-A-64-Museum Collections,
Minnesota Historical Society, photo by Peter Latner.
56, 57: Milwaukee Public Museum, except far left.
Museum Collections, Minnesota Historical Society,
photo by Peter Latner. 58, 59: NAA, SmithsonianInstitution, neg. nos. 596-E-17—476-A-41; MuseumCollections, Minnesota Histoncal Society, photo by
Peter Latner; Milwaukee Public Museum—MuseumCollections, Minnesota Historical Society, photo by
Peter Latner, courtesy Anna Duvis, White Earth,
Minn. 60, 61: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg.
no. 596-E-22-Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford; NAA,Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 596-E-21; NAA,Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 596-E-20—Muse-um Collections, Minnesota Historical Society, pho-
to by Peter Latner 62, 63: Frances Densmore, Min-
nesota Historical Society; Museum Collections,
Minnesota Historical Society, photo by Peter Lat-
ner-birch-bark basket made by Jerry Maulson, Lac
du Flambeau Chippewa, Lac du Flambeau, Wis 64,65: Minnesota Historical Society. 66: LayneKennedy 67: Art by Wood, Ronsaville, Harlin, inc
188
68: Marvin De Foe; Jack Minehart 69: Art by Wood,Ronsaville, Harlin, Inc. 70, 71: From the Wil-
liams/Daugherty Collection, contributed by RaeDaugherty; Marvin De Foe-art by Wood, Ronsa-
ville, Harlin, Inc 72, 73: lack Minehart; Marvin DeFoe-art by Wood, Ronsaville, Harlin, lnc 74: Jack
Minehart-art by Wood, Ronsaville, Harlin, Inc. 75:
David Gidmark. 76: Milwaukee Public Museum. 78:
Minnesota Historical Society. 80: © The Detroit In-
stitute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase with
funds from Flint Ink Corporation Robert Hensleigh,
photographer. 81: Milwaukee Public Museum, neg.
no. 5951 82, 83: Craig Blacklock/BlackJock Nature
Photography, Moose Lake, Minn. 85: Neg. no.
316346, photo by J. K. Dixon, courtesy Department
of Library Services, American Museum of Natural
History 87: ©The Detroit Institute of Arts,
Founders Society Purchase. 88: NAA, Smithsonian
Institution, neg. no. 43551 -A 90, 91: Minnesota
Historical Society, Henry B. Beville, courtesy Smith-
sonian Institution. 92: Smithsonian Institution,
catalog no. 88- 1 1 738. 94, 95: Minnesota Historical
Society. 96, 97: © The Detroit Institute of Arts,
Founders Society Purchase—© The Detroit Institute
of Arts, Founders Society Purchase. Robert
Hensleigh, photographer; Milwaukee Public Muse-um, neg. no. 29 98: Canadian Museum of Civiliza-
tion, Hull, neg. no. 36683. 99: Milwaukee Public
Museum. 100: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg.
no. 8392. 101: Minnesota Historical Society 102:
Museum fur Volkerkunde, Vienna, Austria. 103NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 54837 104:
NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 504 106,
107: Tippecanoe County Historical Association,
Lafayette, ind, gift of Mrs. Cable G. Ball. 108, 109:
St. Louis County Historical Society. 110: NAA,Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-A-22—Cana-dian Museum of Civilization, Hull, neg. no. A75-
636. Ill: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no.
476-A-3. 112: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg.
no. 476-A-14-copyright British Museum, London1 13: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-A-
6 1 14: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-
A-21. 115: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg no476-A-8, copyright British Museum, London 116:
NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-A-9.
1 1 7: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 476-A-
20—Smithsonian Institution, catalog no 80-16639.
1 18, 1 1 9: Glenbow Museum, neg. no. 316343, pho-
to by C. M. Dixon, courtesy Department of Library
Services, American Museum of Natural History.
120: Museum Collections, Minnesota Historical
Society. 121: Courtesy Richard Manoogian Collec-
tion. © Robert Hensleigh, photographer, DIA, cour-
tesy Cranbrook Institute of Science, CIS 3690© Robert Hensleigh, photographer, DIA; courtesy
Cranbrook Institute of Science, CIS 2322 © Robert
Hensleigh, photographer, DIA 122, 123: Courtesy
Cranbrook Institute of Science, CIS 2135. © Robert
Hensleigh, photographer, DIA—photo by Carmelo
Guadagno, courtesy National Museum of the Amer-ican Indian, Smithsonian Institution, catalog no19/6346; National Museum of Ireland, Dublin,
Canadian Museum of Civilization, Hull, neg. no. 94-
37.674; copyright British Museum, London 124,
125: © The Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Soci-
ety Purchase (3)—National Museum of Ireland,
Dublin. 126: ©The Detroit Institute of Arts,
Founders Society Purchase (2)—Logan Museum of
Anthropology, Beloit College, The Albert Green
Heath Collection, photo by John S Latimer 127:
© The Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Society
Purchase with funds from the Flint Ink Corporation.
128: Courtesy Detroit Historical Museum. © Robert
Hensleigh, photographer, DIA; courtesy Detroit His-
torical Museum. © Dirk Bakker, photographer, DIA
129: Courtesy Potawatomi Tribal Administration
and the Field Museum. © Dirk Bakker, photogra-
pher, DIA. 130: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg.
no. 3793-B 132: Hudson's Bay Company Archives,
Provincial Archives of Manitoba-Bibliotheque Na-
tional de France, Paris 134: Jean-Loup Charmet,
Paris; Musee de l'Homme, photo by CI. M. De!a-
planche. 135: National Archives of Canada, Ot-
tawa, neg. no CI 7653. 136, 137: Bibliotheque Na-
tional de France, Paris. 139: Archives Nationales,
Paris. 140, 141: National Gallery of Canada, Ot-
tawa. 143: Map by Maryland CartoGraphics, Inc.
144, 145: Painting by William Armstrong, National
Archives of Canada, Ottawa, neg. no. C-19041 146,
147: National Archives of Canada, Ottawa, neg no.
3/3 Al 100/1777; Museum Collections, Minnesota
Historical Society (2). 148, 149: Museum Collec-
tions, Minnesota Historical Society. 150: Biblio-
theque Nationale de France, Paris. 151: Courtesy
Richard and Marion Pohrt. © Robert Hensleigh,
photographer. 152: The Newberry Library-paint-
ing by Joshua Jebb, National Archives of Canada,
Ottawa, neg. no. C-l 14384. 154, 155: State Histor-
ical Society of Wisconsin 157: Library of Congress,
USZ262-14I42-Detroit Public Library 160: Tippe-
canoe County Historical Association, Lafayette,
Ind., gift of Mrs. Cable G. Ball. 1 63: NAA, Smithsoni-
an Institution, neg. no. 45479-F. 164: NAA, Smith-
sonian Institution, neg. no. 56520. 165: NAA,Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 3793-A 166:
NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 596-D-8
167: NAA, Smithsonian Institution, neg. no. 616-W-
I—Milwaukee Public Museum. 168: NAA, Smith-
sonian Institution, neg. no. 741A. 169: Milwaukee
Public Museum, neg. no. 35-17-20; NAA, Smithsoni-
an Institution, neg no 727-D-10-C. 170: National
Archives. 173: Minnesota Historical Society. 174-
185: Charlotte Hockings, Lac du Flambeau, Wis.
INDEX
Numerals in italics indicate an illustra-
tion ofthe subject mentioned.
AAgriculture; 21, 38; processing of har-
vest, 38, 40Ahtonwetuk (Cock Turkey; Kickapoo
Indian); 33
Alcohol; British trading of, 153-154
Algonquian speakers: 27
Amherst, Lord Jeffrey: 153
Anishinabe (Original People): migra-
tion Of, map 6, 6-15, 22-23, 24, 26,
105
Annuities to Indians: 160
Armband: braided wool yarn, 125
Arrows, bows and: Fox warrior with,
150; hunters' use of, 50
Atlantic Ocean: 6-7
BBabies: 86; in cradleboards, 85, 86,
naming ceremony, 85
Badger, Tom: 79; shaman's treat-
ment of, 100-101; Wenebojo sto-
ries related by, 77-82, 84
Bags: medicine, 92, 103, 115; otter-
skin, quilled, 121, shoulder, cloth,
126, 128; wild rice stored in, 63;
woven, 125
Bark, use of 40, binding strings for
wild rice, 54, 55, houses, 38, 44-45;
hulling container for wild rice, 60;
molds for sugar cakes, 183; stor-
age containers for wild rice, 63;
weaving of mat from, 42-43 See
also Birch bark
Barnouw, Victor: 79
Baskets for wild rice: 59, 63
Basswood bark, use of 40; binding
strings for wild rice, 54, 55Bawating (Sault Sainte Marie), On-
tario: Ojibwas at, 24-25, 26, 156
Beads: trade item, 149
Beadwork: 1 19, 126-127, burden
strap, 122-123, Dream Dancedrum, 167; garter, 126; hood,
woolen, 128; Midewiwin head-
dress, 1 10, moccasin, buckskin,
129; necklace, bear-claw, 127,
pouch, 121; sash, 124, scalp
adorned with, 91, shirt, wool, 126,
shoulder bags, 126, 128, tablecloth,
118-119
Bear Clan: Ojibwa, 93; Winnebago,
95Bear-claw necklace: Fox, 127
Beaver: 133, 142, hunting of, 132,
142; Lahontan's depiction of, 132;
medicine bundles, 92, 103, 1 15. See
also Fur trade
Berries; 40-41; picking of, 38
Big Knives (Chemokmon; American
militiamen) Indians fighting, 158-
159
Big Sail (Ottawa Indian): 28Big Serpents (Nadoway): Iroquois
known as, 137
Birch bark: 10, 33; maple sap, vessels
for, 37. Midewiwin rattle, 117;
Midewiwin scrolls, 7, 101, 105; rolls
of, for wigwam, 44, wild rice, bas-
kets for, 59, 63, wild rice, drying
mat for, 58; wild rice, winnowingtrays for, 61 See also Canoes
Birch trees: 10
Birds: hunters' quarry, 48-49, in leg-
ends, 79-80, 94-95; spirits, 87; in
visions, 92
Black Hawk (Sauk Indian); 30Blackhawk (Winnebago Indian): 130
Black Hawk War (1832): 30
Black River Falls, Wisconsin: womenplaying dice game, 51
Blankets: for Midewiwin members,/ ; /, 114, from rabbit skin, 42;
woolen wearing blanket with rib-
bon, 129
Blouses: 27Blue Earth, Minnesota: Winnebagos
at, 162
189
Boats See CanoesBody painting: 42-43; Ottawa. 23
Bones: shaman's use of, 101
Bootaagan (slat-lined pit): rice
hulling in, 60
Bounties on Indians: 164
Bowl, medicine: Winnebago, 96
Bows and arrows: Fox warrior with.
150; hunters' use of, 50
Box: with pictographs on cover, 18-
19
Bracelet: silver, incised, 26Braddock, Edward: death of, 153,
154-155
Brass kettle: trade item, 148
British (people): Detroit, Fort, 157;
French conflict with, 151, 153, 154-
155, ill will created by, 153; andIroquois, 138; Mackinac Island
fortress, 152, peace council, 156,
158; peace medals, 28; peace pipe.
smoking of, 157, Pontiac's War(1763), 154, 156, 157; traders, 144,
153-154, 158; treaties, 139, 158;
War of 1812, 158-159
Brooches: German silver, blouse
with, 27Buckskin: knife case, 121, moccasins,
122, 129; pouches, 121, 122
Bugonegijig (Ojibwa Indian): 170,
171-172
Burden strap: Huron, 122-123
Burial houses: 108-109
Burial of dead: 107, 108; chief laid out
for, 104, churchyard, 108-109; pro-
cession, 106
Caches for food storage. 38, 40
Cadillac, Antoine de la Mothe: 37
Cadotte, Alice White: 57Cadotte (French Canadian metis):
158
Caking of maple sugar: 183
Calendar: Ojibwa, 17
Calumets: 29; Pontiac and British
ma)or sharing, 157
Camps: summer, 38. 41, winter, 16-
17. 18-19, 50-51. See also Maple
sugaring
Canada: Saint Lawrence River, 8 See
also Ontario
Cannibal game: 47
Cannibalism: war feast, 156; windigo
influence and, 88
Canoes: 33, 34-35, 64-75; bindings,
72, 73; covering, shaping, 70-71;
fishermen in, 24-25, framework
for, 68-69; hunters with, 48-49; La-
hontans party and, 141 ; legend of,
87; materials for, 34-35. 64-65, 66-
67; planks and ribs, placing, 72, 73;
sealing seams of, 74, 75. tracking
of, 140-141, wild rice harvest, use
in. 52-53, 54, 56-57
Cass, Lewis: 159
Catlin, George: quoted, 34
Cedar: bark, weaving mat from, 42-
43, for canoe parts, 34, 66, 68, 72.
73, tree, 12
Cemetery: Ojibwa, 108-109
Champlain, Samuel de: aide to, Nico-
let as, 131; canoes, admiration for,
64; and Huron, 28; and Ottawa, 24
Charm bag: woven. Fox, 125
Charms: hunting, 50; shaman's effigy
containing, 99
Chequamegon Bay, Wisconsin: trade
with Ojibwa at, 141-142
Children berry pickers, 38, 41. canni-
bal game. 47, dreams, 89; educa-
tion of, 86-89; infants, 85. 86; andMide elders, / 13; misbehavior,
dealing with, 86; names given to,
85-86, vision quests, 89-90, 92, 99Chippewa Indians. See Ojibwa Indi-
ans
Chokers: shell, 32
Christianity: church, 108-109; mis-
sionaries, 138, 164-166
Church and churchyard: 108-109
Clans: 93-96; associations of, 95-96;
Ojibwa legend of, 93-95; Winneba-
go responsibilities, 95
Claws: bear, necklace made from,
127
Cloth: eyeglass case, 123. garments,
152, shoulder bags, 126, 128
Clothing: 20, 26, 42, 78; blanket,
woolen. 129. blouses, 27. coat,
hide, 120, high-ranking woman's,
27; hood, woolen, 128, Kickapoo
dance costume, 169, Midewiwin,
/ 10; moccasins, 122, 129; on offer-
ing tree, 81, shaman's, 94-95, shirt,
woolen, 126; trade-cloth, 152
Clubs, war: 134, 151
Coat: hide, European-style, 120
Cock Turkey (Ahtonwetuk; Kickapoo
Indian): 33
Copper teakettle: trade item, 147
Com: cooking, 40
Cotton twine: bag woven from, 125
Cradleboards: infants in, 85, 86
Crafts. See Decorative arts
Crane Clan vs. Loon Clan: Ojibwa,
93-95
Crow Creek, South Dakota: Win-
nebago removal to, 162
DDakota Sioux: Dream Dance move-ment, 166; Ojibwa conflict with,
97, 147-151;Sauk conflict with,
161; scalp from, 91
Dances and dancers: Dream Dancemovement, 166-167, Great Medi-
cine Dance, Midewiwin, 102, 105,
111; healing. Midewiwin, / 17;
Kickapoo costume, 169; scalp,
Ojibwa, 90-91
Daugherty, Rachel: 70
Daybreak People (Anishinabe band):
22-23
Dead, treatment of: 104, 106-109
Decorative arts: 118-129; beadwork.
91, 110, 118-119, 121-124, 126-129,
167; moose-hair embroidery, 1 19,
122-123; quillwork, 92, 1 19, 120-
121; ribbonwork, 1 19, 126, 128-129;
weaving, 40, 42-43, 1 19, 124-125,
women practicing, 42-43, 119
Deer hair: roach from, 31
Deer hunting: canoes, use of, 48-49;
off reservation, 164, winter camp,18-19
Deerskins: 42, tanning of, 40, 42, 46
Densmore, Frances: quoted, 47
Detroit, Fort, Michigan: 157
Dice game: Winnebago women play-
ing, 51
Dickens, Charles: 26Diseases: European-bome, 133;
shamans' treatments for, 96-97, 98,
99, 100-101, 102
Djiskiu (shaking-tent doctor): 101-
103; structure used by, 98, 101
Dogs: sacrifice of, 98
Dream Dance movement: 166;
drums, 167; lodge, 166
Dreams: 89; Anishinabe migration
inspired by, 22; vision quests, 89-
90,92,99Dress. See Clothing
Drums Dream Dance, 167; water
drums, 97, 112
Duquesne, Fort, Pennsylvania: fight
for, 151, 153, 154-155
Eagle-feather headdress: box con-
taining, 18-19
Earrings Potawatomi wearing, 27Eastman, Seth: engraving by, 53
Effigies: Ojibwa, 80, 99, Potawatomi
horse, 871812, War of (1812-1815): 158-159
Elm bark: dwellings sided with, 44-
45
Embroidery: moose-hair, 119, 122-
123; quillwork combined with, 120
England: Indian touring, 26English (people). See British
Europeans: coat style, 120. warding
off effects of, 1 1 1. See also British;
French; Fur trade
Eyeglass case: Huron, 123
Face painting: Midewiwin, 116
Fans: feather, 30Farming: 21, 38; processing of har-
vest, 38, 40Fasting: occasions for, 89
Feathers: Dream Dance drum with,
167; eagle-feather headdress, box
containing, 18- 19, fans, 30,
Midewiwin headdress, / 10, scalp,
enemy, adorned with, 91
Fire: luring fish with, 37, 38-39; sa-
cred, 23
Firearms: flintlock musket, 148-149;
0)ibwa with, 16
Firewood: sawing of, 174-175, 178
First-fruit ceremony: after wild rice
harvest, 48Fishing 35-37; fire, use of, 37, 38-39;
nets, use of, 24-25. 26, 37, 40;
preparation of catch, 37
Flat Mouth (Ojibwa Indian): laid out
for burial, 104
Flintlock musket: trade item, 148-
149
Flood: in Wenebojo legend, 84
Fond du Lac Reservation, Minnesota:
172
Food supply: 17, 24. 38, 40; berries,
38, 40-41; in earliest times, 20-21.
See also Fishing; Hunting; Maplesugaring; Wild rice harvest
Fort Detroit, Michigan: 157
Fort Duquesne, Pennsylvania: fight
for, 151, 153, 154-155
Fort Michilimackinac, Michigan: at-
tack on, 154, 156
Fort Snelling, Minnesota: Winneba-gos confined at, 163
FortStanwix, Treaty of (1768): 158
Fox Indians: charm bag, woven, 125,
displacement, 30, medicine bun-
dle, beaver, 92, necklace, bear-
claw, 127; resettlement plan, 147;
sash, woven, 124; warriors, 31,
150
French (people): British conflict with,
151, 153, 154-155; Cadillac, An-
toine de la Mothe, 37; Champlain,
Samuel de, 24, 28, 64, 131 ; dealing
with Indians, 141-142; and epi-
demics, 133; and Huron, 133, 134;
Jesuit missionaries, 138; Lahontan,
Baron de, 132, 138, 141, 142, 143;
map by, 136-137; Nicolas, Louis,
drawing by, 25, Nicolet, Jean, 131-
132; as patrons of Indians, 140;
Perrot, Nicolas, 108, 144; Potherie,
Claude de La, quoted, 24, 26; andshamans, 100. See also Fur trade
French and Indian War (1754-1763):
151, 153
Funeral observances: 104, 706-108,
107
Fur, use of 42; medicine bundles,
beaver, 92, 103, 1 15; otter, 121, 127
Fur trade: 137, 146-147; beaver as fo-
cus of, 132, 133. 142; British in,
144, 153-154, 158; dealing with In-
dians, 141-142; and epidemics,
133, goods received in, 147-149,
152; hiatus in, 144; La France,
Joseph, in, 144, 146; licenses, 142,
144, 146; Mackinac Island as hubof, 152, reliance on, 160; routes,
140- 141, mop 143; and tribal war-
fare. 133-134, 135, 147-151
voyageurs, 140-141, 142-144, 144-
145, Winnebagos persuaded to
join, 131-132
Gambling games: equipment for, 50;
women playing, 51
190
Games: dice, 51, lacrosse, 154, 156;
snake game, 50, during wild rice
harvest, 47
Garter: beaded, Menominee, 126
Georgian Bay, Ontario: area around,
10-11; Parry Island Ojibwas, 88,
101-102
German silver: brooches, blouse
with, 27Glass beads: 149 See also BeadworkGrand Medicine Society. See Midewi-
winGrand Portage Reservation, Min-
nesota: churchyard, 108-109
Grant, Ulysses S.: 165
Great Lakes Indians: 20, 26-33;
adornment, forms of, 23, 31, 42-43;
vs. Americans, 158-159, 166, 170-
172; Anishinabe (Original People),
migration of, map 6, 6-15, 22-23,
24, 26, 105; clairvoyance, tech-
niques for, 98; clans, 93-96, dead,
treatment of, 104, 106- 109. dis-
placement of, 29-30, 161-162, 168-
169; Dream Dance movement,166-167, earliest, 20-21 ; land ces-
sions, 159-161, 163-164; language
groups, 27-28; maps of territory, 6,
21, 136-137, 143; and missionaries,
138, 164-166; pre-European con-
flicts, 21-22, reservations, removal
to, 161-162, 164-165; songs, 18-19,
96-97, 105, summer homes, 38, 41,
44-45; terrain, formation of, 20;
winter homes, 16-17, 18-19,44, 50-
51; winter transportation, 16-17,
48, 50. See also Canoes, Children;
Decorative arts; Europeans; Foodsupply; Houses; Midewiwin;
Shamans; Spirits; Warfare;
Women; and thefollowing tribes.
Fox; Menominee; Ojibwa; Ottawa;
Potawatomi; WinnebagoGreat Medicine Dance, Midewiwin:
105, 111; initiates after, 103, Ot-
tawa drawing of, 102
Green Bay, Wisconsin, Indians of
refugees, 137; resettlement of,
French plan for, 147; Winnebagos,131-132, 136-137
Grizzly Bear (Menominee Indian): 29Grizzly bear claws: necklace of, 127
Gunwale, canoe's: 68-72
HHail Storm (Ojibwa Indian): 26Hair styles: 42; Ottawa, 23, 24Hare: Wenebojo as, 81-82
Hawk-feather fan: Black Hawk with,
30Headgear: 42, eagle-feather head-
dress, box containing, 18-19, hood,
woolen, 128, Midewiwin head-
dress, 1 10; roach headdresses, 31.
42
Healing dance: Midewiwin, 117
Heddle: Potawatomi, 42-43
Hemp, Indian burden strap, 122-123
Henry, Alexander 156, 158
Herbal remedies, shamans': 100;
equipment for, 96-97
Hides and skins See Skins and Hides
Hockings, Nick and Charlotte: sugar
camp run by, 174-185
Hood: woolen, Ojibwa, 128
Hook: wooden, for cooking pot, 181
Hoowaunneka (Little Elk; Winneba-
go Indian): 32
Horse effigy: 87Houses: 44-45, burial houses, Ojib-
wa, 108- 109, family in wigwam,78; longhouses, warriors setting
fire to, 135; in Mexican Kickapoo
village, 769. Midewiwin member's,
1 12; shaman's wigwam, 94-95;
summer, 38, 41, 44-45. winter, 16-
17, 18,44, 50
Hudson's Bay trader: sketch by, 132
Hunting: 50; of beaver, 132, 142;
camps, winter, 16-1 7, 18-19,50-51;
canoes, use of, 48-49, childhood
training in, 86; in earliest times,
20; off reservation, 164; by
Wenebojo, 80-81 ; during wild rice
harvest, 47
Huron, Lake, Canada-U.S.: area
around, 10-11
Huron Indians: 20, 28, body painting,
43; clans, 93; epidemics, 133; vs.
Iroquois, 133-134; moose-hair em-broidery, 119, 122-123
Hut: wild rice stored in, 62
I
Illinois Indians: Iroquois vs., 138
Illnesses: European-borne, 133;
shamans' treatments for, 96-97, 98,
99, 100-101, 102
Indiana: funeral rites, 106, 107
Indian hemp: burden strap, 122-123
Infants: 86; in cradleboards, 85, 86;
naming ceremony, 85
Insects: French afflicted by, 141
Iroquois Indians: conflict with, 22,
28-29, 133-134, 137, 138, 139, 140;
La France assisted by, 144; treaty
ending wars (1701), 139; warrior
and war club, 134
Isham, james: sketch by, 132
Jenness, Diamond: shaking-tent cer-
emony described by, 101-102
Jesuit missionaries: 138
Jewelry: bracelet, silver, 26, brooches,
German silver, 27, earrings, tiered,
Potawatomi wearing, 27, necklace,
bear-claw, 127; necklaces, shell,
32
Jones, William A.: 171
KKane, Paul: painting by, 38-39
Keewaunay (Potawatomi Indian):
160
Kennekuk (Kickapoo Indian): prayer
stick made by, 33
Kettles: brass, 148, for maple sugar-
ing, 36, 180, for parching wild rice,
59; teakettle, copper, 147
Kewanna, Indiana: funeral rites near,
106, 107
Kickapoo Indians: Ahtonwetuk(Cock Turkey), 33, displacement
of, 30, 168-169, prayer sticks, 33
Knife sheaths: Huron, embroidered,
123; Menominee, quilled, 121
Lac Court Oreilles, Wisconsin: radio
station, 172; wild rice harvest, 57Lac du Flambeau Ojibwa reserva-
tion, Wisconsin: sugar camp, 174-
185
Lacrosse: as ruse in attack on Fort
Michilimackinac, 154, 156
La France, Joseph: 144, 146
Lahontan, Louis-Armand de Lorn
d'Arce, Baron de: beaver depicted
by, 132; on fur traders, 142, 143,
Jesuits criticized by, 138; military
party's struggles, 141
Lakes Indians. See Great Lakes Indi-
ans
Langlade, Charles: attacks led by,
153, 154-155
Language groups: 27-28
La Pointe Island (Madeline Island),
Wisconsin: 14-15, Ojibwa leaders'
council, 93-95; Ojibwa village, 26-
27
La Potherie, Claude de: quoted, 24,
26
Leech Lake Reservation, Minnesota,
Ojibwas at: chief laid out for burial,
104; VS. U.S., 170-172
Legends: Anishinabe migration, map6, 6-15, 22-23, 24, 26, 105; crane
and loon, 94-95; Dream Dance,
166; vision quests, 90. See also
Wenebojo (trickster spirit), legend
of
Licenses: fur trade, 142, 144, 146
Liquor: British trading of, 153-154
Little Elk (Hoowaunneka; Winneba-
go Indian): 32
Lodges: 38, 44-45, Dream Dance,
166; medicine, ///, 113-117,
Midewiwin member's, 112
Longhouses: warriors setting fire to,
/35
Loon Clan vs. Crane Clan: Ojibwa,
93-95
Loons: in legends, 79-80, 94-95; in
vision, 92
Lures: hunting, 5
MMcKenney, Thomas: quoted, 140
Mackinac Island, Michigan: 152
Madeline Island, Wisconsin: 14-15;
Ojibwa leaders' council, 93-95;
Ojibwa village, 26-27
Manabus: Wenebojo called, by
Menominee, 43Manitoulin Island, Ontario: migrants
to, 162
Manitous See Spirits
Manomin ("spirit seed"): wild rice
known as, 46
Maona (Earth Maker; Winnebagocreator): 90
Maple sugaring: 35, 36-37, 174-185;
boiling, stages of, 36-37, 178-181;
caking of sugar, 183; firewood for,
174-175, 178, Migwetch Feast after,
184-185, products of, 180, 185, tap-
ping of trees, 176-177; testing of
sugar, 182, 183
Maple wood: medicine bowl, 96,
prayer stick, 33
Maps: 21, Anishinabe migration
route, 6; French, 1676, 136-137;
trade routes, 143
Marriage: clan membership and, 93;
Ojibwa, 88Mas-saw (Potawatomi Indian): 27Matchekewis (Ojibwa Indian): 154
Matchiwita (Ottawa Indian) peace
medal, 28Mats: lodge insulated with, 44, weav-
ing of, 40, 42-43
Medals: peace, British, 28Medicine bowl: Winnebago, 96Medicine bundles, beaver: Fox, 92;
Midewiwin, 103, 1 15
Medicine lodge, Midewiwin: 113-117;
blankets hung from, HIMedicine men: in first-fruit ceremo-
ny, 48; Midewiwin, 110-117 See
also ShamansMedicine society See Midewiwin
Megis (sacred sign): 22, 23, 24, 26,
105
Menominee Indians: clan associa-
tions, 95-96, with Dream Dancedrum, 167; fishermen, fire baskets
used by, 38-39, funeral rites, 108;
garter, beaded, 126, Grizzly Bear,
29; knife case, 121, pipes, 29, pup-
pets, shaman's, 76, resistance to
removal, 162-163; snowshoe style,
16, vision quest, 89, 90; Wenebojo,
counterpart of, 43, 80; wild rice
harvest, 43, 46-47, 53; wild rice
storage, method of, 63
Mesquakie Indians. See Fox Indians
Mexico: Kickapoo resettlement in,
168-169
Miami Indians: movement of, 134,
138
Michigan Detroit, Fort, 157. land ces-
sions, 159-160; Mackinac Island,
/52; Michilimackinac, chiefs from,
152; Michilimackinac, Fort, attack
on, 154, 156; Potawatomi settle-
ment in, 24
Michilimackinac, Fort, Michigan at-
tack on, 154, 156
Michilimackinac, Michigan: 138, 144;
Ottawa chiefs from, 152
Michipeshu (water monster): rock
i
191
painting of, 82-83 French commitment to, 140, fu- QMidewiwin (Grand Medicine Soci- Offering tree: 81 neral rites, 108, Manitoulin Island, Quillwork: 92. 119, 120-121
ety): 23, 103-105, 110-117; birch- Ojibwa Indians: Anishinabe migra- migrants to, 162. Midewiwin Great
bark scrolls, 7, 101, 105; blankets tion, legend of, map 6, 6-15, 22-23, Medicine Dance, drawing of, 102, Rfor, 111, 114, communal healing 24, 26; bracelet, silver, 26, Bu- origin legend, 23; peace medals, Rabbit skins, use of 42
dance, 117, conversion opposed gonegijig, 170, 171-172; cannibal 28; Pontiac and Pontiac's War, 153, Rag rugs: heddle for weaving, 42-43
by, 166; degrees of membership, game, children's, 47; canoe build- 154, 157, resettlement, 138; trade Ramadas: Mexican Kickapoo village
104, 105, 1 14, 116, face painting, ing, 34-35, 68, 72; canoes, 34, 48- goods, chiefs with, /52 with, 169
1 16, Great Medicine Dance, 102, 49, 64-65, 75; clans, 93-95; club, Otter pictograph: 7 Rattle: birch-bark, Midewiwin, 117
105, 111; hunting success restored war, 151; council on reservation, Otter skin: bag, quilled, 121. necklace Razer, Mary binding of rice by, 54
by, 19; medicine lodge, ///, 113- 173; cradleboard, mother holding with, 127 Red Bird (Winnebago Indian): 161
117; rattle, 117; regalia, 110; water infant in, 85, Dakota conflict with,
PReed matting: lodge insulated with,
drums, 112; Winnebago initiates, 97, 147-151, dead, treatment of, 44
103, women, 115. 116 104, 108-109; Dream Dance lodge, Paddle: for drying wild rice, 58 Religious society. See MidewiwinMigwetch Feast: Ojibwa, 184-185 /66, dreams, 89; effigies, 80, 99; Paint: body, 23, 42-43; face, Midewi- Reservation: 162, 164-165; council,
Mille Lacs region, Minnesota: endurance, 30-32, 172- 173, ex- win, 116, war, 150 Ojibwa, 173, Grand Portage, Min-
Dakota-Ojibwa conflict, 148-151, change with, by French trader, Panthers: drum decorated with, 112 nesota, churchyard on, 108-109;
maple sugar camp, 36-37. Nodi- 141-142; fishermen, 24-25, 26,38, Parching kettle for wild rice: 59 Lac du Flambeau, Wisconsin, sug-
nens's people, 17-19,38 fishnets, 40; gambling game, Parry Island, Ontario, Ojibwas of ar camp, 174-185; Leech Lake,
Miners: American, 159, 161 equipment for, 50; Hail Storm, 26; shaking-tent ceremony, 101-102; Minnesota, Indians of, 104, 170-
Minnesota: cannibal game, children hood, woolen, 128, hunters, 48-49, windigo influence, 88 172; White Earth, Minnesota, Indi-
playing, 47; canoe builder, 66, 81; and Jesuits, 138; land cessions, Peace council: Niagara, 156, 158 ans of, 54, 90-91; Winnebago re-
church and churchyard, 108-109; 159-160; Manitoulin Island, mi- Peace medals: British, 28 moval to, 161-162
council on reservation, 173; grants to, 162, marriage, 88; nam- Peace pipes: 29; Pontiac and British Ribbon: bag adorned with, 121
Dakota-Ojibwa conflict, 148-151, ing ceremony, 85; offering tree, 81; major sharing, 157 Ribbonwork: 119, 126, 128-129
Leech Lake, Ojibwas of, 104, 170- origin legend, 23; Pontiac's War, Perrot, Nicolas; 108, 144 Rice, wild. See Wild rice harvest
172, maple sugar camp, 36-37, 154, 156; prophets' warnings to, 6, Pestles: for rice hulling, 60 Ricing sticks: 56, use of, 56, 57Nodinens's people, 17-19, 38; scalp 22, 132; and refugees from Iro- Petun Indians: Huron and, 134; reset- Rifle Ojibwa with, 16
dance, 90-91, white hostility in, quois raids, 136, resistance to re- tlement, 138 Roach headdresses: 31. 42
164; wild rice harvest, 48, 54, 58; moval, 163; sacrifice of dogs, 98; at Pictographs: Anishinabe migration Rock painting: 82-83
Winnebagos in, 162, 163 Sault Sainte Marie, 24-25, 26, 137, depicted in, 7-9, 11, 13, 15; on box Rogers, Robert: 157
Mirror: trade item, 147 156; scalp dance, 90-91; settle- cover, 18-19; scrolls, Midewiwin, 7, Roots, spruce: use of, for canoe bind-
Missionaries: 164-166, Jesuit, 138 ment of, 24, 26-27; shaking-tent 101, 105 ings, 34-35, 66, 72, 73
Moccasins: Huron, embroidered, 122, ceremonies, 98, 101-102, 156; Pipes, peace: 29; Pontiac and British Rugs, rag: heddle for weaving, 42-43
Potawatomi, ribbonwork, 129 Shakopee and family, 94-95; major sharing, 157 Rush mats: weaving of, 40
Monsters: water, 35, 47, 82-83, shoulder bags, cloth, 126, 128, Pitch: canoe seams sealed with, 74,
windigo, 47, 88-89 snowshoe style, 48, 50; songs, 18- 75 sMoose-hair embroidery: 119, 122- 19, 97, storytellers, 87; sucking Place of the Thunder Water (Niagara Sacrifices: dogs as, 98
123 doctors, 97, 100-101; summer Falls), Canada-U. S.: 9 Sagamity (fish stew): 37
Moose hunter, Wenebojo as: 80-81, camps, 38, 41, tablecloth, beaded, Police: Winnebago, Bear Clan as, Saginaw Treaty (1819): 159-160
Ojibwa imitating, 81 118-119; toboggans, use of, 48; vs. 95 Saint Lawrence River, Canada: 8
Mortar and pestle: for rice hulling. U.S., 166, 170-172; vision quests, Pontchartrain, Fort, Michigan: on La Saint Lawrence Valley, Canada: map60 90, 92, 99; Warren, William, as France's route, 144; resettlement 136-137
Musket, flintlock: trade item, 148- chronicler of, 93, 95, 143, 148-151, near, French plan for, 147 St. Paul Daily Press: quoted, 1 64
149 154, 156; weaver, 42-43; white Pontiac (Ottawa Indian): 153, 157 St Paul Pioneer Press: quoted, 164
Nhostility to, 164; wigwam materi- Pontiac's War (1763): 154, 156, 157 Sandy Lake, Minnesota: Dakota at-
als, 44; wigwams, 78, 94-95; wild Porcupine hair: roach from, 31 tack at, 149-150
Nadoway (Big Serpentsi Iroquois rice harvest, 43, 46-47, 48, 53, 58, Porcupine quills appliqued, 92, 119, Sap, maple: boiling, 36-37 178-179,
known as, 137 60, 172-1 73; wild rice storage, 120-121 180; collecting, 177, 178; legend of,
Naming ceremony: 85 method of, 63, windigo influence, Potawatomi Indians: 24; vs. Ameri- 175, vessels for, 37Necklaces: bear-claw, 127, shell, 32 88; in winter, 16- 17, 18-19, 51. See cans, 159; bag, woven, /25, canoe, Sash: Fox, woven, 124
Nets, use of, for fishing: 24-25, 26, 37, also Maple sugaring, Midewiwin; building of, 70, divisions of, 96; fu- Sauk Indians: Black Hawk, 30, dis-
40 Wenebojo (trickster spint), legend of neral rites, 106, 107; heddle, 42-43, placement of, 30, 161, feather fans,
Nett Lake, Minnesota: first-fruit cere- Omaha Indians: Winnebagos and, horse effigy, 87; vs. Iroquois, 137, 30, with multifamily summermony, 48 162, 164 Mas-saw, 27, negotiations with lodge, 44-45; Pontiac's War, 154,
Nettle fibers, use of 40 Ontario (province), Canada, Indians U.S. government, 160, origin leg- 156
Niagara: peace council, 156, 158 of family in canoe, 34, Hail Storm, end, 23; prescription stick, Sault Sainte Marie (Bawating), On-Niagara Falls, Canada-U S.: 9 26; migrants, intermingling of, 162; shaman's, 96-97, resettlement, tario: Ojibwas at (Saulteurs), 24-
Nicolas, Louis: drawing by, 25 Ottawa, settlement of, 23-24; Parry 138; resistance to removal, 162; 25,26, 137, 156
Nicolet.jean: 131-132 Island Ojibwas, 88, 101-102; rock ribbonwork, 129 Scaffold: for drying wild rice, 58Nipissing Indians: Nicolet among. painting by, 82-83; at Sault Sainte Pouches, buckskin: Huron, 122, med- Scalp: of Dakota Sioux, 91
131 Marie, 24-25, 26, 137, 156 icine, 92, 103. 115, Ottawa, 121 Scalp dance: Ojibwa, 90-91
Nobugidaban (toboggan), use of 48 Original People (Anishinabe): migra- Prayer sticks: Kickapoo, 33 Scalp lock: roach headdress attached
Nodinens (0]ibwa Indian) summer tion of, map 6, 6- 15, 22-23, 24,26, Prescription stick: Potawatomi, 96- to, 3/
village, 38; winter camp, move to, 105 97 Scribe: Winnebago, 100
17-19 Ottawa Indians: 23-24, Big Sail, 28; Prophet, the (Shawnee Indian): Scrolls, birch-bark: Midewiwin, 7Nooshkaachmaaganan (winnowing buckskin pouch, 121, emissaries to Americans fought by, 159 101, 105
trays for wild rice): 61 Winnebago, 131, epidemic, 133; Puppets: Menominee shaman's, 76 Scrying: 98
_i
192
Seers (sucking doctors): 97, 100-101
Shaking-tent ceremony: 101-103,
156, structure for, 98, 101
Shakopee (Ojibwa Indian): 94-95
Shamans: 99-103; effigy, 99, with
family, 94-95, medicine bowl, 96;
prescription stick, 96-97; puppets,
Menominee, 76, shaking-tent cer-
emony, 98, 101-103, 156; sucking
doctors, 97. 100-101; wabenos, 100
Shawnee Indians: Americans fought
by, 159
Shell necklaces: 32
Shelter. See HousesShirt: wool, Winnebago, 126
Shoulder bags: cloth, Ojibwa, 126,
128
Silk ribbon, use of: 121, 126, 128-129
Silver: bracelet, 26; pipestem inlaid
with, 29Sioux Indians: Dream Dance move-
ment, 166, Ojibwa conflict with,
97, 147-151; vs. Sauk, displaced,
161; scalp from, 91
Skins and hides: 42; beaver, 92, 103,
115. 133, 142, 158; buckskin items,
121, 122, 129; coat, European-style,
120; deerskins, tanning of, 40, 42,
46; fleshing, tool for, 149; otter-
skin items, 121. 127
Sky manitous: 87; offerings to, 81,
97-98
Sleds: nobugidaban (toboggan), use
of, 48
Smith, Norma: quoted, 53, 173
Snake game, Ojibwa: equipment for,
50
Snakes: rock painting of, 82-83;
shaman inspired by, 99; in
Wenebojo legend, 82
Snelling, Fort, Minnesota: Winneba-gos confined at, 163
Snowshoes: 16, 48, 50; family with,
16-17
Songs: 96-97; Midewiwin initiation
song, 105; pictographic record of,
on box cover, 18-19
South Dakota: Winnebagos in, 162
Spirits: 51, 79, 87-88; annual observ-
ances honoring, 98-99; children
educated about, 86-89; of clans,
93; dreams' messages from, 89; ef-
figy, 80; maple sugaring and, 35;
and Midewiwin, 103-104, 105; andnaming ceremony, 85; offerings to,
81, 97-98, 176; shamans and, 99,
100-101, 102-103, 156; songs to,
96-97; on soul's journey to next
world, 107-108; and vision quests,
90, 92, 99; water, 35, 47, 82-83; in
Wenebojo legend, 82, 84; and wild
rice harvest, 46, 53; windigo, 47,
88-89. See also Wenebojo (trick-
ster spirit), legend of
Spruce pitch: canoe seams sealed
with, 74, 75
Spruce roots: use of, for canoe bind-
ings, 34-35, 66, 72, 73
Storytellers: 51, 87
Sturgeon fishing: 36-37
Sucking doctors: 97 100-101
Sugar cakes: 185. making of, 183
Sugaring, maple. See Maple sugaring
Summer camps: 38, 41
Summer houses: 38, 41, 44-45
Superior, Lake, Canada-US. shores
of, 12-13
Tablecloth: beaded, Ojibwa, 1 18-
119
Taboos: marriage within clans, 93;
wild rice harvest governed by,
46
Tamaroa Indians: Iroquois vs., 138
Tanning of deerskins: 40, 42, 46
Tapping of maple trees: 176-177
Tattooing: 42
Teakettle, copper: trade item, 147
Tecumseh (Shawnee Indian): Ameri-
cans fought by, 159
Tent: for shaking-tent ceremony, 98.
101
Texas: Kickapoo migration through,
168
Thoreau, Henry David: quoted, 65
Three Fires (Ojibwa, Ottawa, andPotawatomi Indians): 27
Thunderbird: 87
Thunderbird Clan: Winnebago, 95
Tobacco: legend of, 80; offerings of,
97-98, / 76, pipes, 29. 157
Toboggans, use of: 48
Totems: 93; chieftains' signatures on
treaty, 139
Trade: craftswomen's work as items
of, 118-119; shells obtained in,
necklaces from, 32 See also Fur
trade
Trade-cloth garments: Ottawa chiefs
wearing, 152
Trading captains, Indian: French and,
142
Trays: winnowing, for wild rice, 61
Treaties: 163, of Fort Stanwix (1768),
158; Iroquois wars ended by, 139;
Saginaw (1819), 159-160, andWinnebago removal, 161, 162;
Winnebagos displaying, 165, Win-
nebagos refusing to honor, 130,
162, 163
Trees: birch, 10, cedar, 12. in legend
of first canoe, 87; offering tree, 81,
roots, use of, for canoe bindings,
34-35, 66, 72, 73; tapping of
maples, 176-177 See also Bark, use
of
Turtle pictograph: 7
Twine, cotton: bag woven of, 125
Velvet ribbon: shirt trimmed with,
126
Vision quests: 89-90, 92; Ojibwa
shaman's, 99Voyageurs: 140-141, 142-144, 144-
145
wWabenos (shamans): 100
Wagons: Kickapoo migration to
Mexico, 168
Wakusasse (Fox Indian): 31
War clubs: 134, 151
Warfare: 135, British-French conflict,
151, 153, 754-;55;F0Xin, 147, 150;
fur trade and, 133-134, 135, 147-
151; Iroquois in, 22,28-29, 133-
134, 137, 138, 139, 140; mock,
scalp dance after, 90-91; Ojibwa-
Dakota, 97, 147-151, Ojibwa-U.S.,
166, 170-172; Pontiac's War (1763),
154, 156, 157; refugees from, 134,
136-138; retribution, 29; songs for,
97; War of 1812, 158-159; Win-
nebago leaders, 95
War paint: Fox with, 150
Warren, William: 93, 95, 143; Dakota-
Ojibwa conflict described by, 148-
151; Fort Michilimackinac attack
described by, 154, 156
Water drums: 97, 112
Waterfalls: on Anishinabe migration
route, 9, 13
Water spirits: 35, 47; rock painting of,
82-83, in Wenebojo legend, 82
Wawatam (Ojibwa Indian). 156
Weapons: bows and arrows, 50, 150;
clubs, war, 134, 151; flintlock mus-ket, 148-149; rifle, 16
Wearing blanket: woolen, Potawato-
mi, 129
Weaving: 1 19, 124-125; cedar-bark
mat, 42-43; heddle for rag rugs, 42-
43; rush mats, 40
Wedding: Ojibwa couple, 88
Wendat (Wyandot) Indians: 134
Wenebojo (trickster spirit), legend of
77-82, 84; and animals, 80-82; and
birds, 79-80; and brothers, 77-79;
and canoe, first, 87, and maplesap, 175; and tobacco, 80, and wild
rice, 43, 46; world created by, 84
White Earth Reservation, Minnesota,
Indians of: scalp dance, 90-91;
woman binding wild rice, 54
Whitefish Ojibwa men netting, 24-
25, 26; stew of, 37
Wigwams: 16-17 18, 44, 45, 50; fami-
ly in, 78; shaman's, 94-95
Wilde, Standard: 169
Wild rice harvest: 43, 46-47, 52-63,
1 72- 1 73; binding of stalks, 54-55;
drying of kernels, 58; first-fruit cer-
emony after, 48; games during, 47;
hulling methods, 60, legend of, 43,
46; parching of kernels, 59; ricing
sticks, use of, 56, 57; storage
methods, 62-63, winnowing, 61
Windigo (monster): 88-89; in chil-
dren's cannibal game, 47
Winnebago Indians: clans, 93, 95-96,
corn, cooking, 40, deerskin pre-
pared by, 46, dice game, womenplaying, 51; displacement, 30; of
Green Bay, 131-132, 136-137;
Hoowaunneka (Little Elk), 32,
medicine bowl, shaman's, 96,
Midewiwin initiates, 103, old age,
view of, 106; Omahas and, 162,
164, otter-skin bag, 121, removal
of, 161-162; resisters of removal,
130, 162, 163. scribe, 100; shell
necklaces, 32, shirt, wool, 126,
treaties displayed by, /65, vision
quest, legend of, 90Winneshiek (Winnebago Indian):
130, 163
Winnowing trays: for wild rice, 61
Winter hunting camps: 16-17, 18-19,
50-51
Winter wigwams: 16-17, 18,44, 50
Wisconsin Black River Falls, womenof, 5/, Chequamegon, trader at,
141-142, Green Bay, Indians at,
131-132, 136-137, 147; horse effigy
from, 87, intertribal ceremony in,
167; Madeline Island, 14-15, 26, 93;
sugar camp, 174-185, wild rice har-
vest, 57, Winnebago removal from,
1 6 1 - 1 62 , Winnebagos resisting re-
moval from, 130, 162, 163
Wolves: in Wenebojo legend, 82
Women: berry pickers, 38, 41; in ca-
noe, 75, canoe builders' relative,
70; canoe building, role in, 34-35,
72, 74; and Dakota attack, 149-
150, deerskins tanned by, 40, 42,
46; dice game played by, 51, at fu-
neral rites, 107; gardens, 38; hair
style, 42; of high status, 27, maple
sap gathering, vessels for, 37;
Midewiwin, 115, 116. mothers with
children, 85, 113. plant fibers
processed by, 40; skins, use of, 42;
wagon drivers, Kickapoo, 168;
wigwams, role in construction of,
44, 50, wild rice harvest, role in,
52-53, 54, 56-61. See also Decora-
tive arts
Wood nettle: fibers, use of, 40
Woodpile: stocking of, at sugar
camp, 174-175, 178
Wool: blanket, Potawatomi, 129;
hood, Ojibwa, 128, horse effigy
covered with, 87, shirt, Winneba-
go, 126; yarn, items woven from,
124-125
Wyandot (Wendat) Indians: 134
Yarn, wool; items woven from, 124-
125
Yellow Beaver (Ojibwa Indian): 160
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